


Must Love Earth

by teaDragon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dating AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalypse, assorted angel and demon ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: Adam reasons that if Heaven and Hell just got to know each other a bit better, they wouldn’t be so keen to start another Apocalypse. After all, both sides have a lot in common, even if they hate to admit it. To make his point, Adam has every angel and demon fill out compatibility quizzes and go on a date with whoever they get matched with (be it angel or demon). But not just once. Oh no. They have to do it Five times. Five different dates in five days. Naturally, Aziraphale and Crowley have to participate as well…





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr, here it is on ao3!

“I think you’ll all find you have a lot in common,” Adam was saying. “Deep down, you’re really not that different. And this will help you all meet new people!”

The great host of assembled angels and demons watched him in silent horror. They were gathered in Tadfield, out in a big snowy field large enough to hold them all, and far enough from any buildings to avoid startling any passing humans.

The Metatron coughed delicately. “Might I ask _why_ you have chosen to inflict this punishment on us all?”

“The young mazter iz finally zhowing an interezt in the buiznezz,” said Beelzebub miserably. “Imprezzively zadiztic.”

“Blimey.” Adam ran a hand through his mop of curls. He was a teenager now, and it showed in the deepening of his voice and the way his body had started to fill out. He still looked like _Adam_ though. Like the kind of boy who runs through ditches and plays with his dog and organizes games for his friends to play. Only bigger.

“This is what I mean. You’re not being punished,” Adam said. “I just think if you spent more time getting to know each other, you’d find you had a lot in common. It’ll be good for you!”

Beelzebub sighed. “Juzt when I think your father would be pleazed.”

“But why must this be done on the Earth?” asked The Metatron desperately.

“It’s neutral ground.” Adam rubbed his nose. “’Sides. If you spent more time on earth you might actually like it. No more Apocalypses!”

There were shocked murmurs breaking out through both sides now, the angels and demons watching Adam warily. He beamed back at them, satisfied and confident in his teenage logic*. 

*To be fair, he hadn’t failed them yet.

“Yes but-” The Metatron’s face twisted up into something distasteful- “ _dating?_ It’s revolting.”

“Doesn’t Heaven support love and peace?” asked Adam.

“Love, not—“

“Don’t finish that.”

“Muzt we really go on a…date,” said Beezlebub, as if he’d never said the word before, “wiz whoever we are matched wiz?”

“Oh, yeah.” Adam beamed. “That’s the point.”

“Must we?”

“Don’t worry! I saw them do this at school. You just fill out the quizzes and get matched with someone you like. It’s wicked!”

“When you zay ‘wicked’ do you mean, zinful?” asked Beelzebub hopefully.

“Nah, I mean it’s brilliant.” Beelzebub deflated. “It’s great fun! And you’ll all get to do it a couple of times so I can narrow it right down.”

“How many is a couple?“ The Metatron asked in alarm.

“I dunno yet. Four? Five?”

The field filled with worried voices, angels and demons eyeing each other and their opposites across the field nervously.

“Right!” Adam clapped his hands together. “So everyone pick up a quiz. You’ll have until midnight to fill them out, so take your time if you like. Tomorrow, you’ll all go on your first date! And you _have_ to go, I'll know if you don't show up. ”

And thus ended the first official meeting of all the Hosts of Heaven and all the Legions of Hell at the behest of the rebel Antichrist. Adam stood watching them all, disappearing back Up or Down in flashes of light, or milling about in shell-shocked silence. The snowy breeze rustling over the open field tossed his hair about gently, a solid spot of calm in a sea of uneasy.

An angel and a demon hurried towards him.

“Hullo you two,” said Adam brightly. “Isn’t it great?”

“Er,” began Aziraphale. “It’s quite the plan to bring everyone together.”

“Aw thanks! I thought it was pretty brilliant myself.”

“You sure ruffled them,” said Crowley. “Just, er…everyone? Really, _everyone?_ ”

“It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“I mean some poor sod is going to end up with The Metatron.”

“Or Gabriel,” added Aziraphale with a shudder.

Adam beamed. “There’s someone for everyone. And they all need to be more open-minded. Like you chaps.”

“Yes. About that,” said Aziraphale.

“Why do _we_ have to do this?” whined Crowley. “We already like the Earth.”

“Very much!”

“And we’ve been, y’know…”

“Friends.”

“Hanging out.”

“With each other."

“Yeah!”

“For a very long time.”

“Years.”

“Thousands of them!”

“Since the garden.”

“Oh I know that. Trust me, I _know_.” There was a distressingly knowing glint in Adam’s eye when he said that. Aziraphale and Crowley shuffled uncomfortably. “Actually, you two were my inspiration.”

“Oh!”

“But I won’t make an exception or else everyone will want one.”

“But,” began Aziraphale. Then he fell silent.

"It’s only for an hour or so,” said Adam kindly. “It doesn’t have to be fancy, you can just go for a cuppa. And if you don’t like them, you don’t have to see them ever again. But who knows? Maybe you’ll find your soul mates!”

Crowley lent in close. “But what if you pair someone with bad blood between them? What if I get _Hastur?_ ” he hissed nervously.

“Aw, that’s what the quiz is for.”

“And just what kind of a _quiz_ is this?” asked Aziraphale dubiously, wondering if he would need to brush up on his geometry. Then again, Adam was a very…modern boy. Maybe it would be about ‘pop culture’ or, er...mimes? Vines? The angel glanced nervously at Crowley and shuffled closer. “How difficult is it to pass?”

“Blimey! It’s not that sort of a quiz. It’s about your _personality_. You put your likes and dislikes and what you want in a date. It’s bloody brilliant! Our school did it this year, that’s where I got the idea.”

“Oh. I suppose…that’s reasonable.”

Crowley leaned over. “Angel, remember when I got that commendation for OkCupid? Online dating?”

Aziraphale blanched. “Ah.”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“Oi, it’s made a lot of people happy too,” insisted Adam.

“Don’t rub it in,” sighed Crowley.

“And if you don’t like who you get, you can answer differently the next time. It’ll be grand. Just you wait!”

~O~

Crowley was sprawled across his sleek leather couch, a glass of wine on the coffee table beside him. The compatibility quiz was ten pages of pink paper, fill-in-the-blanks and multiple-choice questions, all bound together in a neat little booklet. Crowley ticked off boxes with a pen so expensive it could pay his rent for a month*.

*If Crowley were the sort to bother with paying rent. One of the perks of being a demon was unlimited cash, and credit cards that smelled faintly of sulfur when the transaction when through.

“’About me’,” he read aloud. “’How would I describe myself?’ Oh, you know. Cool. Fancy. Some might even say I’m a rebel without a cause. 'Favourite pass-time?' Oh, sin! Sloth especially. 'Name a celebrity or fictional character you most relate to'. The name’s _Bond_ …Hobbies, hmm, mayhem and mischief, naturally. A bit of plant terrorism. Tempting angels? Does that count? Better put it down just in case…”

Crowley was enjoying this.

Having had a hand in online dating, he wasn’t expecting much. Did he respect Adam? Certainly. Was he grateful to the boy for stopping the Apocalypse in its tracks? Of course. But did that mean he would be looking to a teenager - no matter how occultly inclined – to match him with his soul mate? Hell—somewhere, NO.

They had to do this thing what, four, five times? He may as well have some fun with it. And see how well it worked, anyway.

“’What do I want in a date?’ Ooh, let me see. Cool, sleek, devil-may-care. Hah. Fashionable of course. Expensive! I don’t deserve anything less than the very finest…”

~O~

Aziraphale had a much harder time filling out the quiz.

For one, the angel was having trouble wrapping head around the whole thing. A romantic partner? He’d spent thousands of years reading about humans and their romances and while, yes, admittedly quite a lot of it sounded very pleasant indeed, the rest of it seemed to be a huge mess of emotions flying every which way all at once. People got hurt. It could lead to blood and tears and the occasional stack of bodies.

It was so much work! All the posturing and dressing up, struggling to make a favorable impression and primping, all those strange intricate courting rituals that changed every few decades for hardly any reason! Aziraphale had become familiar with many of these rituals through observance and in his literary circuits, but that didn’t mean he understood them. Or remembered which ones belonged to when.

Did you bring them a gift? Should he arrange for a chaperone? Was holding hands too forward? Was it rude _not_ to hold hands?

He tried to think through some of the more recent films he’d seen. He grimaced.

Did you have to kiss at the end of the date? Was it a slight to your partner not to? What if his date tried to initiate a kiss? Or tried something–he shuddered–even _more_ forward than a kiss?

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what second base was, and didn’t think he’d like to find out*.

*He suspected there may be a club and some small compact ball and someone shouting _foul_. Possibly there was a Red Card involved. It did not sound like a good time. 

And if that wasn’t enough there was the whole business of whether or not you were even attracted to the person! It was easy enough to _like_ someone, in a sort of general, friendly way, but to want to do…any of _that_ with them?

There was nothing wrong with hanky-panky. If two (or more really, it wasn’t any of his business) people wanted to get together and be intimate, that was between them. So long as everything was safe and consensual, of course.

It just wasn’t something Aziraphale had ever thought to go looking for. It simply hadn’t come up, and Aziraphale was fine with that. What was the point of meeting up with a perfect stranger and subjecting yourself to all kinds of unpleasantness and discomfort and resulting indigestion? 

Besides. There was nothing he’d really want to do with someone that he didn’t already do with Crowley. They went out regularly. Or stayed in. Both were perfectly lovely in their own ways, and the angel really didn’t mind so much at all when Crowley fell asleep on him*. Aziraphale had a hard time imagining any of this dating business would be more enjoyable than that.

*Which was often. Increasingly often, come to think of it. There was something...rather comfortable about that.

Some small thought in the back of his mind rose up, trying to connect the two trains of thoughts respectfully named ‘Crowley’ and ‘dating’. Aziraphale frowned. Yes, the faster this whole dating business was over with, the sooner he could meet up with Crowley and tell him all about these terrible dates. The small thought sunk back down, pushed aside for the moment but still there, lurking just below the surface.

His eyes scanned the quiz in resignation.

“'What do I want in a suitor?' Oh…perhaps someone who can appreciate books…”

~O~

Crowley stared at his date across the restaurant they had agreed to meet at.

The demon looked like a vampire. And not the classic gothic kind. Malaphar fell somewhere between _Twilight_ heart-throb and the models on the fronts of glossy mens fashion magazines.

Tall, attractive, not a hair out of place, he wore a suit so sharp it made even Crowley feel like a slob. His gaze swept coolly over the room and landed on Crowley. Crowley gave a little wave. The corner of Malaphar’s lip curled.

Oh for someone’s sake. He was out of his depth.

“Hi,” said Crowley smoothly as the other demon neared their table. He flashed a winning grin. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yes. Suppose you are.”

“S _o_ ,” began Crowley after a long uncomfortable minute of silence. “What’s your gig, then?”

“Damning humanity to the unending torment of Hell,” was the flat reply. Malaphar wasn’t looking at him, his attention absorbed in the wine menu.

“Well yeah. Obviously,” floundered Crowley. “I mean, what’s your, y’know, _angle?_ ”

Malaphar glanced sharply up at him. “I suggest taking more time to think before opening your mouth. Maybe you wouldn’t waste so many words trying to get to the point.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, struck speechless.

_Aziraphale would never insult me like that,_ he thought. _He lets me blabber all I like._

Crowley lent back, crossing his arms. “Ahh, I see. Well, you’ve got the smooth, stuck-up bastard bit down to a tee, so _congratulations._ ”

They ordered and sat in silence waiting for their meals. Crowley debated puling out his phone and playing Candy Crush with the volume on full blast.

“Here you are sirs.” The waitress laid their orders out on the table. Crowley suppressed a sigh of relief at the welcome distraction. The steam rising off his roast duck smelled delicious.

“What is _that?_ ”

Crowley froze.

“Er, sorry?” asked the waitress.

“That.” Malaphar picked at the plate of impeccably prepared Lobster Thermidor with the expression of someone who had just been given a dead rat on a platter.

“The Lobster Thermidor, sir.”

“And what is it doing here?”

“It…it’s what you ordered, sir.”

“Funny. I distinctly remember ordering the Lamb Ragu.”

“Oh, that’s…”she checked her notebook where she had written it down. No human would have noticed the slight tendril of power twisting out and wrapping around it. Crowley did.

“I—I am so sorry, sir. I’ll be right back with your order.”

Malaphar watched her leave impassively, a slight sneer on his face. He turned back to Crowley as if nothing had happened. “Humans are so easy to break, aren’t they?”

“Uh. Ye-yeah.”

Crowley had quite lost his appetite.

“You’ve been up here so long,” mused the other demon. “Surely you must have some extraordinary feats of evil to your name?”

The question hung in the air between them like a challenge.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe all of what I’ve done,” said Crowley smoothly. “It would take too much time to even list it all.”

“Try me.”

Their waitress came back, balancing a plate of Lamb Ragu.

Crowley saw the exact moment she began to trip, Malaphar making a slight movement with his hand.

_Oh no you don’t, you bastard!_

_CRASH_

“Oh! Oh I am so sorry!”

“You know,” said Crowley. “I think red is your colour.”

Malaphar glowered darkly at him, his immaculate suit covered in creamy tomato sauce. He stood in one towering movement.

“Your manager will be hearing about this,” he hissed to the distraught waitress, before storming out the restaurant. Crowley watched him in satisfaction.

“Oh. Oh no.” The poor waitress looked close to tears.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Crowley, quickly wiping the last minute from the minds of everyone in the room. He cleaned up the mess with a wave of his hand.

“Er.” That waitress stared at him blankly. “...Sorry?”

“Just the bill, thanks.” He smiled at her. “Great service here. You’re doing a marvelous job.”

~O~

Aziraphale met Pravuil at a small café.

He was nervous, but had been put a bit at ease when he remembered Pravuil was an angel who worked in Heaven’s archives. Surely they would have something in common?

“Hullo,” he greeted the other angel pleasantly.

“Aziraphale?” she eyed him. Pravuil had taken the form of a stern looking woman, her clothes neat and practical and immaculately pressed. Aziraphale thought she had the look of a librarian about her and was cheered.

“Yes, yes. You must be Pravuil.” He held out his hand. “How nice to meet you.”

Pravuil stared at his hand uncomprehendingly. He lowered it guiltily.

“Sorry. It’s a human custom.”

“Is it?”

“Oh yes. Shall we order?”

“Just tea for me. I don’t eat.”

“Don’t—?” Aziraphale floundered. He couldn’t imagine a world without food. It was a terrible, lonely thought. “Not even a little?” he tried a desperately.

“Never. It’s too messy.”

“Ah.”

“I work with very delicate documents,” she said as they got in line.

Aziraphale made an understanding noise. “Oh yes. I suppose I know what you mean. I have a modest collection of rare books myself. I won’t have anyone coming near them with food.”

“Does that happen?” asked Pravuil with something approaching alarm. “Is that something humans do?”

“Sometimes. But I send them running.”

“I should hope so!”

They sat down at a small table, a chai tea and a mug of hot cocoa set in front of them respectfully. Aziraphale worried the handle of his mug, gazing down at the slowly melting marshmallows floating on the surface of his drink. He was feeling rather peckish, but thought it might be rude to eat something if Pravuil was against it. His belly rumbled gently. He apologized to it silently, promising a nice something after.

“Do you get time for much reading? Up there?” asked Aziraphale, trying to distract himself.

“Yes.” She took a sip of her tea. “I get every seventh day off. I spend it in the library.”

“It’s a marvelous library, isn’t it?” Aziraphale would visit Heaven’s library when he was stuck waiting for a new corporation. It was perhaps his favourite place Up There, though he couldn’t say it was his favourite library.

“Yes. It is.”

They sat in silence. 

Aziraphale wondered if he was doing something wrong or if this was just what dating was like.

“What have you been reading lately?” he asked after a while.

“I have an interest in the art of sigil making.”

“Wonderful! So have I!”

“What have you read about it?”

Aziraphale finally thought things were going well. They talked for a few minutes pleasantly enough.

“Of course, sometimes I really enjoy settling down with a good novel,” he said, taking a sip of his cocoa. “Have you ever read Wilde? He was a particular friend of mine.”

“Fiction?”

“Yes.”

She sniffed, something in her expression closing off. “No. I can’t see the point in it.”

“Can’t see the…” Aziraphale was at a loss.

“It’s just made up things.”

Aziraphale felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him.

“Yes but, but, that’s what’s so fantastic about it,” he said, trying to recover. “The worlds people create, the characters! The sweeping themes and beautiful phrases of prose. They put so much into these stories, so much heart and soul. I would even go so far to say stories are one of the greatest achievements of humankind.”

Pravuil finished her tea. “I can’t say I care for all that. It’s written by _humans_. What do they know?”

Five minutes later Aziraphale and Pravuil politely said goodbye to each other, mutually relived the interaction was over.

~O~

That was bloody awful!

Crowley got home, angrily undoing his tie and throwing it across the room. What a twat!

Of course, Crowley himself was a demon, and liked to consider himself an unpleasant sort of person*. But while he knew it was his job to mess with greedy, corruptible bastards it didn’t mean he enjoyed hanging out with them! Bleugh!

*Most people who knew him would disagree. Aziraphale especially.

Surely Aziraphale could be a bit of a bastard sometimes, but he was _just_ enough of one to be likeable! He was a bastard in all the _right_ ways, enough to be interesting and petty and hopelessly enduring and none of the ways that were downright cruel.

He flopped lengthwise onto his couch, feet up on the armrest.

There was a flash of light followed by a neat stack of papers landing softly on his chest.

He looked at it wearily.

It was the damn quiz.

He gave the sigh of the long suffering.

Only four more to go.

He opened the papers and skimmed them. Well. This time he wouldn’t ask for someone sleek and cool. Crowley was more than cool enough for two. And this time…maybe…

He gave a surreptitious glance around the room. He bit his lip.

Almost guiltily he bent to the preferences sheet and ticked off ‘Compassionate’ and ‘Empathetic’…

~O~

Aziraphale was pacing. Back and forth across the floor of his bookshop he walked, absently stepping over stacks of books and weaving around boxes that got in his path.

He had come to the conclusion that his date with Pravuil had gone…not terribly.

She had a very high esteem of books, which was something Aziraphale always approved of. But they hadn’t really got on. It had been such an effort. It wasn’t at all like meeting Crowley for lunch. They could talk for hours about anything and everything, or sit silently, and somehow it still felt comfortable.

Aziraphale sighed, and slowed to a halt. He looked down at the new quiz in his hands and resisted the urge to sigh again.

What did he want in a partner?

He needed someone with an interest in the Earth. He needed someone with a _spark_ , with a certain…

The angel snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

He hurried over to his desk and scrambled about for a pen.

“'Must have a sense of humor…'” he wrote.


	2. Chapter Two

Aziraphale stood in the park* waiting for his date to turn up. He had been matched with a demon this time. It cheered him. This was concerning on one level, but considering the person he got on with best was in fact, a demon, Aziraphale had chosen to take it as a good sign.

*Not St. James. He didn’t quite know why, but to go there with someone other than Crowley just seemed…wrong, somehow.

After all, angels had a habit of being rather stuffy and self-important. Aziraphale would know, being somewhat inclined that way himself, but he knew deep down he could never ever be anywhere near as bad as _Gabriel_. Something about Heaven brought it out in you. It was more than enough reason to avoid going Up There on it’s own, not to mention all the other wonderful earthly delights it lacked.

Aziraphale did not want that in a partner. He needed someone who could make light of things, who wouldn’t take everything so very seriously and so very heavily.

It was something he had always admired about Crowley. Even when the poor dear was clearly anxious and suffering, Crowley still had that strange streak of optimism, a way of seeing the light in most situations. He never let Aziraphale wallow for long. Crowley seemed to know exactly when Aziraphale needed to be left alone, and when to show up at the shop and demand to be let in, knowing he needed the company.

A loud honking cut through his thoughts. 

It wasn’t the low, nearly dignified sounds you hear on cars these days. Oh no. This was a proper wheezing honk, the kind made by an old run down hulk that looked like it had crawled out of a junkyard, coughing smoke and spewing exhaust every which way like the dying throes of some beast.

There was a sinking sort of dread creeping on Aziraphale as he looked and saw the sound was not, in fact, coming from a car, but from a rickety old unicycle. The figure riding it was short, dressed in a battered top hat and a huge overcoat, and yes, was a demon.

Oh dear.

The demon hopped down from the unicycle and made his way over.

He stopped short at seeing Aziraphale, actually rocking back on the heels of his overly large shoes. He pointed at the angel, threw his head back, and laughed silently, his whole body shaking with it.

“E-excuse me?” bristled Aziraphale.“Just what is so funny?”

The demon waddled over to him and plucked at Aziraphale’s coat, grinning. “I _like_ this coat*,” said Aziraphale defensively. He swatted the demon’s hand away from his bow-tie, “And there’s nothing wrong with a bow-tie! You can hardly talk, anyway.”

*The coat in question was perhaps a bit on the old side, but it had been through so much with the angel, and was so very comfortable that he hadn’t the heart to get rid of it. It didn’t show it’s age so very much, really. It simply…was a bit dated perhaps.

The demon plopped himself down on a nearby bench, swinging his short legs happily and whistling. Aziraphale bit back a sigh and followed, making absolutely sure to check he wasn’t about to sit on anything nefarious before sitting down.

“Your name is Wasco, is that right?”

The demon beamed at him, nodding enthusiastically. 

“You ah—” he watched warily as Wasco pulled a long thin balloon out of his pocket. He diligently bent it into the shape of a dog. “Er. Well done,” said Aziraphale. Wasco handed the dog to him and rummaged though the huge pockets of his coat. He produced a comically large pin.

Aziraphale only had time to think _oh no_ , before—

_POP_

Little bits of colourful rubber landed around them. A baby in a pram nearby started to cry, startled by the noise. Wasco rocked back and forth in silent laughter.

Well. He had asked for someone with a sense of humor. Perhaps he should have been more specific?

Aziraphale brushed the bits of balloon off his coat. He thought better of it and miracled them away, not wanting some poor animal to choke on it.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he tried.

There was a negative honking sound from deep inside the overcoat.

“Mmm. Have you, er…are you by any chance familiar with Punch and Judy? Eh…Charlie Chaplin? Harpo Marx?”

Wasco grabbed his hand and shook it wildly.

“I-I thought so.” He yelped as a shock ran through him. The demon’s hand detached entirely. Wasco laughed, kicking his short legs. Aziraphale sighed. “Very funny.” He gave the hand back. Wasco promptly jumped up on the bench and hurled the fake hand into the pond, scattering the few ducks still out in the cold.

Hastily, Aziraphale miracled the electricity out of the toy before it could do any damage. Wasco frowned at him. “The ducks wouldn’t have liked that,” defended Aziraphale. Wasco stuck his tongue out.

“You haven’t been up here recently, have you?”

Wasco shook his head. He pointed at the ducks and grinned. They were funny looking creatures. Aziraphale had always liked that about ducks, the way they waddled and quacked and somehow managed to be quite fearsome when the mood struck.

“You like it up here though, don’t you?” Wasco nodded happily and sat back down. “When were you last on earth?”

The demon paused. He sat back on the bench, crossing one arm over his chest and cupping his chin in an exaggerated thinking gesture. Then he straightened, and turned to Aziraphale.

Wasco held up a finger and traced it down through the air in an arc, whistling as it went. When it hit the bench he spread his hands apart, mimicking an explosion.

“Oh. Oh I see.” Likely one of the great wars. “I’m sorry.”

The demon dug through his pockets and produced a glaringly coloured, polka dotted handkerchief. There was a loud honking sound as he blew his nose obnoxiously. He courteously offered it to the angel.

“Er, no. Thank you.”

Wasco shrugged and tossed it over the back of the bench.

They sat in silence for a long minute, Aziraphale struggling to think of something to say and Wasco cheerfully rummaging through his huge pockets, ominous clanking sounds coming from their depths.

At least it was a nice day. It was sunny for winter, and warm enough to make an outing pleasant.

Wasco turned in his seat, staring over the back of the bench at the busy intersection behind them. Then he raised his finger. He pulled a stick of dynamite out of his coat. The tip began to fizzle.

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat as he realized that _yes_ , that was real dynamite, and _yes_ , Wasco drawing his arm back to throw it at the intersection.

He only had a second to act.

“ _No_ ,” Said Aziraphale.

The dynamite disappeared. Wasco turned to him in confusion.

“That is _not_ funny, Wasco,” he started lowly, adrenaline turning his voice sharp. “That could have seriously hurt someone! You could have _killed_ all of those people! Is that what you wanted?” The edge of divine wrath had seeped into his voice, making his eyes glow faintly. “ I _won’t_ have it. It’s not funny if…oh.”

Wasco was shrinking back from him, visibly frightened. 

Aziraphale deflated. He hadn’t meant to scare the demon, he'd just wanted to get his point across. But he couldn’t go around killing people. Certainly not in Aziraphale’s city.

The angel pursed his lips. Wasco really was only a small little thing. He couldn’t have been much more than an imp. And it was clear he wasn’t intending to be malicious, just…mischievous.

“Humans are fragile,” he said softly. “They won’t bounce back from something like that.”

Wasco was still terrified. Aziraphale sighed.

“Oh dear. I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

And then he was suddenly struck with inspiration. 

“Oh? Now, what’s _this?_ There’s something behind your ear…”

He produced a large daisy. Wasco stared at it with huge eyes. Then he broke into a delighted grin.

 _I knew those magic lessons would come in handy_ , thought Aziraphale proudly.

~O~

This time, Crowley was paired with an angel. He was feeling tentatively optimistic about it. Aziraphale was an angel, for one, and Crowley considered himself _the_ Aziraphale expert. He was certain he could handle what ever this angel had to throw at him. He couldn’t be much worse than Aziraphale on a bad day, could he?

Crowley arrived in the courtyard they had agreed to meet at, fifteen minutes early. His date was already there.

Hasdiel, the angel, was sitting cross-legged on the steps in front of a winged statue, hands clasped in prayer, eyes closed. Tears streaked down his face, iridescent and shimmering with Divine Mercy.

Crowley slowed, taking in the pristine white robes and faint shimmery aura that was just visible to the naked eye.

Well bugger. This one didn’t spend much time on earth, Crowley would bet his custom-made, state-of-the-art watch on that.

Still. It could go all right.

Hasdiel opened his eyes. “Demon,” he said. “I have prayed unto our Heavenly Father for deliverance from your wiles. I shall not be tempted in your presence.”

“Er, Hi. Nice one.”

Hasdiel rose to his feet in a graceful shimmery movement. He blinked slowly at Crowley, tears streaming down his face.

“Um. Are you—” Crowley gestured at his face, “—all right?”

“I feel the suffering of all beings,” said Hasdiel solemnly. “Their earthly pain expresses itself through me. I prey and weep for their souls.”

 _Very funny Adam, very funny_ , thought Crowley wildly. _This is what I get for asking for compassion, is it?_

“So…I'm guessing you don’t get out much?” he tried.

Hasdiel blinked at him.

“Look, let’s start over? I’m Crowley.” He held out his hand. Hasdiel stared at it as if it would bite him. Crowley took it back awkwardly. “That’s Ok. You don’t have to.”

“You are The Serpent.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” Crowley awkwardly stuck his hands in his pockets. He took them back out again, and wondered what he was supposed to do with them.

Hasdiel watched him distrustfully, tears still dripping down his face.

“Look. I promise not to hurt you, all right? It’s not my style anyway*. I won’t tempt you. I don’t think Adam would be happy about any of that. It’s not, y’know, the point of this whole—” he waved a hand—“thing. Dating thing, y’know? So don’t worry about it, yeah?”

*Crowley had _never_ physically harmed Aziraphale. The thought actually sickened him. It had been hard enough actively working against him back in the day. Not because the angel was too cunning, Crowley simply…hated seeing Aziraphale upset. Luckily Aziraphale had been of a similar mind, and even if their formal Arrangement was relatively new, they’d come to an unspoken agreement early on not to doing anything intentionally harmful to the other.

Hasdiel stared at him for a long moment. Crowley struggled not to fidget, wondering if he should just make a break for it and leave.

Hasdiel said: “You are not what I expected.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Well. I’ve been up here about six thousand years. They’ll rub off on you, humans. Gotta watch 'em.”

They were still standing at this point, which Crowley thought was a bit ridiculous. He sat down on the step beside the angel slowly, trying not to startle him.

“You…” Hasdiel was watching him, confusion plain on his face. “You... _like_ humans?”

“Y-yeah.” Crowley shrugged, looking away. “Yeah, I do. They’re interesting. You never know what they’ll come up with next.”

Hasdiel stared at him like he’d just sprouted another head. Crowley nearly checked just to make sure he hadn’t*.

*Normally he kept very good control of his body, but everyone once in a while there were little slip-ups. Little slips of the subconscious, physically manifesting in sometimes rather alarming ways if you forgot yourself. It was bloody annoying.

“What?”

“You _do_ feel compassion. I can see it in your aura.”

“Er.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair, a blush starting up his cheeks. “Mmh. Yea..? Don’t, um. Spread it around? M’ demon, see? S' bad for my reputation.”

Hasdiel was still staring at him as if he’d had some major life-altering epiphany. Crowley was all for epiphanies, he just preferred if they didn’t happen to other people on his time.

“Look, are you all right?” he tried. “Did you want to get something to eat? That usually cheers Aziraphale up.”

Hasdiel jolted, coming back to himself. “Aziraphale,” he said, something hard coming into his eyes.

“You know, Guardian of the Eastern Gate? He’s a frien—er. We run into each other down here. Do you know him?”

“No. I do not, and I am glad for it," he said darkly. "That angel will Fall very soon and join the rest of the Filth where he belongs.”

“Ha,” said Crowley. 

And then he realized Hasdiel wasn’t joking. 

“Oh.” His opinion of the angel dropped sharply into negatives.

“Crowley.” 

Hasdiel took Crowley’s hand. Crowley nearly flinched back. Azriaphale’s hands were warm and wan and delightfully plump, and whenever they touched it filled Crowley with an incredible feeling of comfort, of safety.

Hasdiel’s fingers were feather light and cool, and brought none of the comfort he had come to associate with Aziraphale.

“Come." There was a hint of Command in his voice, Hasdiel's hand tight around his own.

Crowley silently cursed his mind for going right to the gutter. “Er, what?” 

“We must pray for you.”

“Nhk…what? Wait, _what?_ ”

“Your soul is not yet wholly corrupted. There is still hope. You can still be returned to the glory of Heaven and to our blessed Father. You can return to your siblings in the Host.”

“Whoa! Whoa hold on!”

“Surely you want this?”

“I—“ 

Crowley did lie awake some nights wondering and regretting—but he didn’t miss Heaven. For all he hated Hell, Heaven wasn’t that much better*. And if he did switch sides, what where the chances he’d get posted on earth?

*Especially to hear Aziraphale talk about it. Oh they wouldn’t torture you outright. No, that was 'uncivilized'. But they had their ways of making you just as sorry as Hell could, Aziraphale had bitterly recounted, deep in his cups. It was a matter of aesthetics. At least Hell had the decency to be upfront about it.

Earth was where it was at. Earth was his home, it was his _side_ , what he and Aziraphale had fought and nearly died for. Heaven and Hell could go bugger off. He wanted no part of their bloody pissing match.

Crowley pulled his hand out of the angels’ grip. “Look, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t _want_ to go to Heaven.”

Hasdiel stared at him in confusion. “You are sullied as you are. Your soul is unclean and damned. Surely you know this to be true. I can help you.”

“I don’t need help. I’m happy as I am, all right?”

“How can you be, burdened by your vile sins?” Something patronizing had slipped into his voice. 

“I just am, Ok? It’s different on earth. I can live by my own moral code, not follow any one side blindly.” Crowley was getting increasingly offended.

“You need not be afraid,” said Hasdiel, expression benevolent. “If you bare yourself before our Holy Father, you can still be saved. You must ask for absolution. He would want that, Crowley.’

“Well _I_ don’t!” snapped Crowley. “It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than all of that! You think just because you’re an angel and you live in Heaven you’re pure as a daisy—well that’s _not_ how it works! You make your choices everyday with every action—and if you think for one minute we’re exempt from it— you’re wrong! You have to think about what you _do_ , not just do what you’re told!”

Crowley was reeling. Aziraphale had _never_ made him feel as low as this angel had. Aziraphale _respected_ him. He’d never manipulate Crowley into repenting for his sins.

“Come,” Said Hasdiel, holding out his hand. Tears glistened on his face. “You need no longer squabble about in all this filth. Be clean again.”

“ _Fuck_ you!”

Crowley stormed off from the weeping angel, tears treacherously prickling at his own eyes.

~O~

Sitting in his favourite armchair, Aziraphale stared into his mug of cocoa and wondered why people willingly subjected themselves to dating.

It was…true, that he’d met some interesting people. Certainly.

Had he enjoyed himself? No. Not at all.

He sighed. A sense of humor was important. But he’d been hoping for something a bit more advanced than slapstick! That should have been a given, he felt. There needed to be some element of sophistication to it.

Wasco hadn’t understood the difference between a harmless prank and a deadly assault. Aziraphale needed someone who did. Someone with a strong sense of morality. Like Crowley.

That halted his thoughts in their tracks.

Crowley knew right from wrong. He had _always_ known, Aziraphale realized. And what’s more, he acted on it, following his own sense of morals. Even when it put him in a bad position, Crowley was rarely cruel. He was considerate. He balanced everything excellently, doing his job and performing acts of low-grade evil while at the same time avoiding as much actual harm as he could.

And he knew what lines shouldn’t be crossed. Crowley had never burned a book. He’d _stopped_ book burnings, simply because he wanted to spare Aziraphale the pain of loss.

A warm feeling was building in his chest.

He jumped, a low ringing shook him from his thoughts. It was his mobile phone. There was only one person that had his number.

“Crowley!” he answered delightedly. “My dear boy, how are you?”

“Aziraphale.” It was nearly a sigh. He sounded tired. Exhausted. The angel frowned.

“Are you all right? Is something the matter?”

“Just…talk to me? Please?” 

“Of course, my dear,” said Aziraphale softly, wondering just what had happened to put him in such a mood. “Whatever you need."

There was another sigh down the line, this one more relieved.

"Well…" He scrambled for something to cheer his friend. "How about I tell you something I’ve discovered?”

“Sure. What did you find?” Crowley’s voice was still exhausted, but there was a note of fondness in it now.

“You, my dear, are a shining _beacon_ of morality,” said Aziraphale proudly.

There was a strangled sound down the line.

“No no, it’s true. And I won’t be budged on it!”

“ _Angel._ ”

“And—I must say, though I worry for your ego—you are terribly _sophisticated_ as well. I see that now.”

“ _Sophisticated_.” Crowley gave a small laugh. “Ooh. I like that. Yeah. I am sophisticated, aren’t I?”

_“Exactly_ so.” 

“Go- _someone_. What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I don’t think this last one was much more than an imp. Jittery little thing." 

“Imps have about two brain cells they have to share between the lot of them.”

“That’s not very nice,” chided Aziraphale. “Though of course I can’t say as much, but I think you may be on to something.”

“Ha.”

“It was a bit like dating Harpo Marx.” 

“Oh _no_. That bad?”

“Afraid so.”

“For someone’s sake.” He sighed. “I haven’t seen those films in ages.” Aziraphale made a noise in agreement. “Too bad he wasn’t more like Groucho. He was more your style, if I remember.”

“Well, what can I say? I appreciate someone who can talk circles around everyone.”

“I know you do.”

“Though it was nice to have someone appreciate my magic tricks,” mused Aziraphale.

“Oh no. I’ve not been neglecting you, have I? You haven’t been carrying a pack of cards around all this time, heartbroken, just waiting for me to ask?” 

“ _No_. I’m simply glad I know the skill.”

Crowley laughed. It was such a nice sound. Aziraphale pressed his mobile closer to his ear. He licked his lips. “Are you feeling any better, my dear?” 

There was a breathy sigh. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Aziraphale softly. 

“No, not— _thank_ you. Aziraphale. For…respecting me. As I am. Not—trying to make me something else.”

“I don’t see what’s not to like about you,” said Aziraphale hotly, meaning every word. Crowley made a small sound down the line. “Why? Dare I ask what your dates have been like?"

“…How about I tell you later. We’ll get together after this thing is over and drink about it, yeah?” 

“My dear. I would like nothing better.” 

There was the sound of paper crinkling. “Got to get this damn quiz done.” 

Aziraphale grimaced. “Yes, me too. Suppose we’d ought to get to it.”

“Ye _ah_.” 

They were both silent for a long moment. Neither wanted to hang up. 

“Angel. Thank you.” 

“Crowley. You are very welcome. You know you can call me any time you like. It’s not like I’ll be sleeping!” 

“Yeah,” Crowley laughed again. “That’s one of the great things about you. You’re dependable.” 

~O~

Crowley felt much better once he got off the phone with Aziraphale. He usually did. 

“All right Adam." He glared down at the quiz. “I see how it is.” 

It demanded honesty, but you also had to spell everything out for the damn thing. He’d have to think of it like some bloody-minded contract written by a pack of lawyers hired by the kind of multi-billion dollar corporation so unabashedly evil it made Hell weep with envy*. 

*Take amazon. 

“Compassionate, yes,” said Crowley, bouncing his pen on his leg. “But they have to be open-minded. Someone who will look past appearances and at least _try_ to get to know me…” 

~O~

“Someone sophisticated”, decided Aziraphale, filling out his quiz. “Charming.” The angel drummed his fingers against his desk. 

“And an excellent conversationalist…” 


	3. Chapter Three

Crowley sat in the Bentley. He had been there for some time, idling just outside the large park he was supposed to meet his next date in.

Dumah was another angel. He wanted to feel encouraged by that. The truth of it was that Crowley couldn’t stand anyone who was cruel. He had come to grips with this some time ago* and admitted to himself that he was likely better off trying an angel than a fellow demon.

*It should have been an embarrassing shortcoming for a demon, but then Crowley had never much liked to conform.

But what if this angel was like the last one? What if she thought he was beneath her and wanted him to ask for– he winced – _absolution?_ As if he needed to be sanctified. Not because of the way he acted but on the simple grounds of him being a demon?

What if she didn’t bother to see any of his good qualities? He didn’t want to be pitied or feared, and certainly not in the name of patronizing, misplaced concern for his soul!

_‘Inside my heart is breaking_

_My makeup may be flaking_

_But my smile stays ooon.’_

“Yeah,” sighed Crowley, listening to F. Mercury’s _Pictures at an Exhibition._

Might as well get it over with.

If this angel tried anything, he’d give her the slip and be back in the Bentley before she could say ‘superiority complex’.

Maybe he’d call Aziraphale after. It had been such an unspeakable relief to hear his voice again, to remember that there was someone who knew him for who he was and liked him for it.

_‘The Show must go ooon.’_

“All right, all right. I’m going.”

~O~

Aziraphale stood in front of the mirror. This wasn’t something he did very often. After a good few decades wearing a corporation, he rather fancied he knew what he looked like. His clothing he tended to know just as well for how long he held onto each piece. It wasn’t a lack of vanity on his part, per se. It was that he simply knew what clothes he enjoyed matching together and how he would look in them. There simply wasn’t a need to spend much time looking at himself.

Today as he readied himself for his next date, he wondered if he had been remiss in that.

Aziraphale liked how he looked. 

He did, he really did.

His body was comfortable and familiar, and he’d been in this one long enough that it had stopped feeling like a corporation and had started feeling like _him_. He was rather fond of his fluffy curls and comfortable layer of fat around his middle.

But…Wasco had taken one look at him and laughed at his face. Admittedly, the little demon likely wasn’t the best judge of this sort of thing, yet the more he thought on it the more it rattled him.

He wasn’t…funny looking. Surely not?

Aziraphale bit his lip.

The passingly man-shaped being in the mirror wore a bright reddish brown coat with a cheerful green tartan bow-tie. He stared...maybe the coat was a little faded. His trousers were a deep mustard yellow. They had seen better days too.

He frowned. He’d been planning to add a handkerchief. Something bright and paisley patterned for his breast pocket. It was what he usually did.

With a sigh, he shrugged out of his coat. He looked at it miserably.

Aziraphale loved colours. He loved patterns and textures, and the thing about Heaven was that it lacked just about all of it. Everything was severe whites and creams and the odd grey. Sometimes you got a pale brown. The best you could do was the metal tones, the golds and coppers and bronzes, though it was expected they were used sparingly.

But then there had been Earth and the Garden bursting with more colours than he had ever seen, and Aziraphale had never looked back.

With a sigh he pulled out a camel hair coat from his closet. It wasn’t his favorite. It was more of a sandy cream than a brown.

He pulled it on.

~O~

It was snowing. Crowley knew because he was covered in a thin layer of it. He’d found a bench and had been waiting for some ten minutes now, watching as the worn wood slowly disappeared beneath a thin layer of fluff.

His date was late.

Fifteen more minutes of this and he was going get a coffee. Scratch that, make it a large, hot whiskey.

Something prickled at the edges of his aura. 

Very slowly he looked up.

A pure white deer stood silently in the snow, watching him with soft silvery eyes.

“Er…”

The deer blinked at him, slow and graceful.

“Dumah, right?” guessed Crowley.

_Yes._

Her mouth didn’t move. The sound that came out was nothing any human could hope to process, but Crowley understood. He crossed his legs.

“Not a fan of human language?”

_Sorry, no. I care for all fauna on earth. It simply is not something I use._

“Animals. Neat.” Crowley shifted closer to the edge of the bench.

Duamah glowed for a moment, then took the form of a large grey heron, long legs keeping her far from the snow. The angel ran her beak through her feathers awkwardly.

_I…apologize. I am not comfortable with human forms._

“Hey, no worries.” Crowley smiled. “I get days like that too.”

_Oh?_

“Here.”

He stretched out his spine with a satisfying pop and slithered off the bench, wincing at the feel of the cold snow against his scales.

“Ssseee?”

Dumah startled, eyes widening in fear. She took a few hasty steps back, her wings raised defensively.

“Oh, hey. No. It’ssssss all right.” Crowley’s heart sunk. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

 _Aziraphale was never afraid of me_ , came the sudden petulant thought. _Not even at the beginning*_.

*The first moment Crowley and Aziraphale had locked eyes all those millennia ago, Crowley had been expecting to see fear or hatred or disgust on the angel's face—that was what he had gotten when he tried the North, West and South gates of Eden. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate, however, had _cooed_ at him, crouched right down and promptly asked him what he was. Crowley had admitted, a little embarrassed, that he was a demon. Aziraphale had waved him off impatiently and said “Yes but what _are_ you?” There was no animal half as extraordinary in the whole garden as whatever he was, Aziraphale told him, eyes bright with delight and wonder, flaming sword lying forgotten against a nearby rock. Crowley had decided right there and then that they would be friends**.

**He hadn’t regretted it for a single day since.

Crowley laid himself down in the snow, exposing some of his belly. “I won’t bite. Ssssnake’ssss honour.”

 _You are The Serpent, aren’t you?_ She asked.

“My name’ssss Crowley. But yesssss.” He sniffed. “Aren’t you ssssupossssssed to care for all animalsssss?”

_All except serpents._

“That’ssss a little harsssssh, don’t you think? It wasssss me that causssssed the trouble. The ressst of them didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Dumah lowered her feathers slowly. _No. You are right. It was wrong of me to make that assumption._

Crowley wished he had eyelids so he could blink at her. “Really?”

That was it? No guilt tripping, no deflecting, no condemnations, just up and admitting to it?

_Yes._

Crowley’s tongue sucked back into his mouth. Dumah took a cautious step forward.

_I will admit your form does set me on edge._

“Oh. Ssssorry. I can sssswitch—“

_No. No please, don’t. It was kind of you to take my preferences into account. I wish you to stay as you are. It will be good for me to get over my fear._

“Er…right. Let me know if you change your mind.”

_Of course._

Crowley slithered closer, wishing it wasn’t such a cold day and he didn’t have snow nearly up to his eyeballs. Dumah watched him closely. When he was close enough she hesitantly lent down. Her beak gently brushed against Crowley’s scales.

“Ssssee? No biting from me,” said Crowley helpfully.

 _No_ , agreed Dumah slowly. 

“Did you want to get sssssssomething to eat?” asked Crowley. “There’ssssss thissss great little bakery nearby where—erm. Hmm. Right. Animal form.”

_Perhaps not._

“We could figure it out. It’ssss amazzzzzing what people won’t noticccce if you give them a bit of a nudge.” And now he’d brought it up he really was craving some of those excellent apple dumplings. His mouth started to water just at the thought.

_If you don’t mind, I would rather not._

“Mnh?" He pulled himself out of his tasty daydream with difficulty. "You ssssure? It ssshouldn’t be much trouble.”

She ducked her head. _Thank you, no. I’m afraid I am not very fond of humans._

“Oh.”

_You must think of it from my position. Animals are my charges, yet everything in Heaven and Hell is designed for humans. It is…difficult to not feel frustrated towards them when they do so much harm to my own._

“Sssssupossssse that checkssss out. They’re not all bad though. Humansssss.”

_No. Maybe not. But enough are._

“You’re missssssing out on an awful lot you know,” he tried.

_I think I shall survive._

He shrugged as best he could without shoulders. “All right then.”

Dumah shifted again, changing into a large white rabbit with the same silvery eyes. Her ears drooped.

_I am sorry for being difficult._

“Nah, it’ssss all right. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The rabbit cocked her head. _You are very kind._

“Er…” Crowley ducked his head. “Thanksssss. Don’t let it get around.”

 _Wouldn’t dream of it._ He got the feeling she was smiling at him. _Would you like to explore the park? I do not usually come so far into the city._

Crowley smiled. “Ssssssure! Been a while sssssinccccce I’ve last been out in thissss ssssskin.”

Maybe they could accidentally stumble across some humans. It would make a fun bit of fuss. Dumah at least wouldn't mind him scaring them a little.

~O~

“The earth is a fascinating place, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes. Yes I certainly think so,” agreed Aziraphale.

This date was going better than the others. Chayyliel was a Throne who had spent some time on earth. He’d been spending the better part of an hour telling Aziraphale about his latest missions and thwartings and the trouble he’d had down on earth while they sat in one of London’s fancier restaurants.

Chayyliel really was an engaging speaker. Aziraphale could simply eat his meal and drink his wine and nod and gasp at the right places, and leave the rest to the other angel. No having to fumble around struggling to keep the conversation going today.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly a conversation. More of a monologue, really. But at least there were none of those dreadful silences.

“Humans need so much guidance,” said Chayyliel, handsome in a sharp, clean, traditionally masculine kind of way, with his neat blond hair and immaculate grey suit. “I’ve almost grown fond of them, in a sense. They need a firm hand lest they turn to paths of sin.” He took a measured sip of his mineral water. “Once mustn’t go soft. So long as souls are saved one must do what they can. It’s in their best interests.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale took a sip of his wine. It turned into a gulp, and he vaguely wished it would hurry up and affect him more.

“Things are always more difficult around this time of year with—what do they call it? St.Valentine’s Day? Of course, chocolate has to go. It simply can’t be allowed.”

Aziraphale put down his glass a bit more heavily than he meant to. “That’s a bit rash, isn’t it?” he managed. “Surely chocolate has caused much more good than bad. The taste could only be described as divine, after all. They do call it the food of the gods for a reason.”

“Do they?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve always considered it a compliment.”

“Hmm.”

Chayyliel eyed him across the table, finishing his forkful of salad with measured, neat bites. His gaze dragged over Aziraphale’s decade old jumper and the rounded shape of his belly beneath it, settling on his near empty glass of wine and plate of honey glazed chicken. He finished chewing and neatly put down his cutlery. He steepled his hands.

“You see, I’ve found it’s the small things that cannot be tolerated.” He sniffed. “A minor indulgence may seem harmless at first. But one leads to many, and soon they spread like a plague. With such allowances, even the most promising souls are corrupted by sin.”

“But chocolate, really? Have you ever tried it? It’s done so much more good than—“

“One must be firm in their affirmations. And hold themselves to the highest standard.” He gave Aziraphale a sharp look. “How else are we to lead from example?”

Aziraphale made a noise in the back of his throat. “No, I think you’re wrong,” he said. “Humans are so incredibly skilled at finding balance. They’re endlessly complex. And sometimes it’s the little indulgences that give them the strength to resist more dangerous sins. It’s not all so very cut and dry! Er, for the most part, of course,” he corrected himself. “Why, even things they do while meaning to be bad can have resoundingly good effects, and vise a versa. Not to say wanting to do bad is good, but it simply isn’t as black and white as all that. There’s context for one. It’s ineffable.” 

He felt rather pleased with himself and reached for his glass of wine.

Chayyliel however, was not impressed. He hadn’t moved in all of Aziraphale’s little impassioned speech, and now there was something very hard in his eyes as he looked across the table.

“Ineffable? I believe we may have a different understanding of its meaning.”

Aziraphale stared at him, suddenly feeling very cold. “Yes...I think we do.”

He did not like this conversation. For one, Aziraphale was quickly doubting it was a conversation any more, and had rapidly become something of an Argument. Not the type he and Crowley liked to have, where they snipped at each other and exchanged ideas and metaphors playfully, and there was no real menace and no one really kept score*.

*Score was kept for the express purposes of teasing the other at some future date. It was awfully fun.

This felt different. This felt more like a Disagreement.

In fact, Aziraphale felt a bit like he did during those unfortunate times he was forced to be in Gabriel’s presence, like he was some particularly unpleasant weed being sized up by a disgusted gardener with sheers.

Chayyliel patted his mouth with his napkin and set it down neatly on the table. “Look, Aziraphale. It’s clear you need help.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You are a sorry excuse for an angel. An embarrassment really.”

Aziraphale spluttered.

“You’ve let yourself go. It’s shameful. It's no way to represent Heaven.”

“I-I beg your pardon?!”

“It’s not all bad. You’re almost likeable,” said Chayyliel in a way he clearly thought was charitable. “There’s still some hope. If we go Up now, I’m sure they can get you sorted. You’ll have to undergo some mortification, but suffering is good for the soul, after all. You certainly could use some.”

In all of his millennium on earth, Aziraphale had never thrown his drink in someone’s face. He’d secretly fantasized about doing it the odd time or two. It had such flair! What an effective was to shut someone down, to end a conversation! But of course, being an angel, this activity was strictly restricted to his imagination*.

*Plus, he hated to waste good food or drink.

As Aziraphale pushed back his chair and stormed out of the restaurant, he was pleased to note that throwing his wine in someone’s face’s was _exactly_ as rewarding as he imagined it might be.

~O~

It was rush hour.

Crowley was in a good enough mood that he didn’t bother to get around it, and was happy enough to inch along with the other drivers on the busy London roads. He’d turned the Bentley’s heat up on full blast, warmth slow to return to his limbs after spending the better part of two hours slithering around in the snow.

The date had gone all right. Dumah was gentle and considerate and it had been fun to spend time as a serpent. Cold, but fun. He could see Dumah as a sort of friend, maybe. 

But she hadn’t liked humans and didn’t want to have anything to do with them or what they made. That was a bit of a deal breaker.

Besides. Crowley needed someone who was a bit more…fiery. _Sassy_ , he thought with a grin. Flamboyant. Maybe even a little fussy. He liked people who were so sure of themselves and what they liked and what they did. Mind you, they had to be somewhat open minded, or at least happy to have a good argument about it over drinks.

Without any warning the Bentley lurched to a screeching halt.

A seat-belt manifested at the last second and saved Crowley from crashing headlong into the dashboard.

“Hey! What gives?”

Horns and angry shouting erupted behind him. They hadn’t hit anyone. He put his foot down on the pedal. The Bentley would not budge.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her. The Bentely’s horn started honking loudly. “Are you angry at me? Did I— _Hhnng!_ "

The car jerked towards the pavement, knocking his gaze up from the dashboard. His eyes landed on a familiar figure walking a few yards away.

“Angel!”

The door sprang open before Crowley could reach for it. If he had bothered to look, he would have seen the Bentley smugly park herself by the side of the road. Crowley’s didn’t notice, too happy to see his friend.

“Angel! Hey!” He caught up to him, a grin already on his face.

Azirphale turned, startled. 

“Oh. Hu-hullo. My dear.”

Crolwey slowed, taking him in. Something was wrong.

Azirahale's hair was all stiff, some sort of gel trapping his curls from their usual fluffy abandon. He wore a pale cream coat and dull grey trousers. It was jarring to see him dressed so colourlessly. The angel sniffed, meeting his eyes guiltily.

“You look…” 

The angel cringed, looking half embarrassed and half miserable and very much like he had been crying. Crowley felt his heart give a little lurch.

“Uncomfortable,” said Crowley firmly.

Aziraphale blinked.

“Here.” Crowley ran a hand through the angel’s hair, banishing the gel and freeing his curls to their usual messy glory. He smoothed down Aziraphale’s coat, and miracled a green carnation, sticking the flower in his breast pocket.

“There,” said Crowley firmly. “Much better.” 

Suddenly he had his arms full of Aziraphale, the angel lurching forward and hugging him tightly. He felt his mouth go dry. Aziraphale was warm and soft against him. He slowly wrapped his own arms around him, resting his cheek on the angels’ curls. Aziraphale made a small sound and squeezed him tighter. Crowley rubbed his back.

“Hey. Hey, it’s all right.”

They broke apart after a long few moments, Crowley trailing his hands down the angels’ arms, strangely reluctant to let him go. Aziraphale’s glasses were half fogged up, his face a study in misery.

“Come on.” Crowley kept a firm hold of Aziraphale’s arm. “I’ll drive you.”

Aziraphale nodded gratefully and followed him over to the Bentley. They got inside, Crowley starting the car up again and merging back into traffic.

He shot a glance at his companion.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Aziraphale was still for long moment.

_‘Look into my eyes and you’ll see_

_I’m the only one,’_ sang Freddie Mercury.

“I’m…” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m a terrible angel, aren’t I?”

Crowley’s hands tightened on the wheel. “You’re not the shining example of it.” The angel slumped. “But angel, why would you want to be?”

Aziraphale stared at him.

_‘You’ve captured my love_

_Stolen my heart_

_Changed my life…’_

“They don’t enjoy things,” said Crowley. “They don’t _want_ to enjoy things. Perfect angels are terrifying. And the ones like Gabriel are just smug, self-obsessed bastards.”

Aziraphale hiccuped.

“The point, the _point_ ,” said Crowley, suddenly determined to make him understand. “Is that I don’t _want_ you to be perfect. And I’m not saying this as a demon, I’m saying it as your...your friend. I like you as you are. I don’t want you to be like them. _You_ don’t want to be like them. They’re dull, self-righteous pricks with no appreciation for good take-out.”

The angel gave a little laugh. He smiled at him, taking it as a good sign.

“You have to decide for yourself what you want to be—and not let anyone else tell you what you are, or what you’re supposed to be. Not even me!” He shrugged a little self-consciously. “Don’t judge yourself by their standards. I’ve…always admired how you’ve kept to your own moral code.” Crowley smiled. “Even when you try so hard to deny that it's any different than theirs. You can’t let them decide who you should be.”

_‘You take my breath away…’_

Aziraphale took Crowley’s free hand in his own and squeezed it gently. Crowley turned his hand around and laced their fingers together, squeezing back.

_‘You can reduce me to tears_

_With a single sigh_

_(Please don’t cry anymore)_

_Every breath that you take_

_Every sound that you make_

_Is a whisper in my ear…’_

“I’m very glad you ran into me,” said Aziraphale.

“Me too.”

“Sorry to get all—” he hiccuped softly, “—all soppy on you. Goodness.”

“Don’t be,” said Crowley firmly. “It’s nothing our drunken nights in haven’t seen before.”

That won him a watery laugh.

_‘I could give up all my life_

_For just one kiss_

_I would surely die_

_If you dismiss me_

_From your love…’_

“Thank you for talking to me.” Crowley glanced over at him. “That day. In the garden,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t know what possessed you to come up to me, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and all, and strike up conversation, but.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand again. “I’m so very glad you did.”

_‘You take my breath away…’_

Even cold-blooded beings blush. Crowley gave a pleased little shrug, the warmth from the angel’s hand in his own so unspeakably comforting.

“You just. Looked like a friend.”

Aziraphale laughed again. “So did you. Funny little noodle that you were.”

Crowley made a noise of mock outrage. “ _Noodle._ ”

He nodded. “I _like_ noodles. It’s a compliment. You are very cute like that, you know?”

“Cute!” Crowley felt ridiculously pleased by this. He tried to scowl. “I’m a serpent. I’m The Serpent. I have a fearsome reputation, you know. Angels are terrified of me.”

“Oh dear, really?”

“They are! You ought to watch it.”

“Mmm. I’m terribly frightened, my dear.”

Aziraphale’s thumb rubbed across the back of his hand, sending warm tingles all through his body.

They reached the bookshop, Crowley pulling over and parking against the curve.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“I threw wine in a Throne’s face.”

Crowley looked over at him. “What did he do?”

“He called me a sorry excuse for an angel. And he wanted to ban chocolate.”

“The _bastard_.”

“I feel bad about it now.” He sniffed. “It was a terrible waste of good wine.”

Crowley sniggered, unable to keep the fond grin off his face. Aziraphale joined him, dissolving into giggles.

“Oh _angel_ ,” managed Crowley. “Don’t ever change.”

Aziraphale leaned over and hugged him. Crowley hugged back, shutting his eyes and drinking in the warmth of his friend.

_‘So please don’t go_

_Don’t leave me here all by myself_

_I get ever so lonely_

_From time to time…’_

They pulled apart. Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm affectionately. “Thank you, my dear.”

“I’ll see you soon, right?” called Crowley as the angel climbed out of the car.

“Oh yes. As soon as this is over.”

“Two more dates.”

“He’s decided how many?”

“Yeah. Says on the new form.”

“Two more days. Goodness.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

Crowley watched him open the shop door and step inside, some strange feeling of longing welling up inside of him. Aziraphale’s warmth clung to him, safe and familiar. He let out a long breath.

_'I will find you_

_Anywhere you go_

_Right until the ends of the earth_

_I’ll get no sleep_

_Till I find you_

_To tell you when I’ve found you_

_I love you…’_

He choked.

Then he blinked.

Oh.

_Oh._

Crowley slowly opened the glove compartment, taking out the quiz.

“Come on Adam,” he murmured, a warm soppy feeling swelling in his chest. “Match me with the one person in all of Heaven and Hell who I want to be with...”

~O~

Aziraphale closed the bookshop door behind him, relieved to be back in its familiar comfort.

There was a flash of light, and a booklet of pink papers materialized in front of him. He caught the quiz with a sigh and scanned it.

_Wouldn’t it be nice if I got Crowley this time?_

He smiled. Then froze.

“Oh…”

Several things were occurring very fast to him, realizations made millennia ago clicking into place.

Very slowly he brought a hand to his face.

“ _Oh._ ”

His knees wobbled. Aziraphale slid down against the door, hunched up in a little ball on the floor. He felt very warm. Logically he knew he ought to be terrified or disgusted. It's what most any angels would feel in his place.

Aziraphale thought of Crowley and felt the largest, soppiest smile come across his face. He had come to a Realization.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for non-consensual hand holding

It was a bright chilly morning in lower Tadfield. Adam was giving Dog one last pat down before cycling off to school when he heard someone calling his name.

“Adam!”

The boy turned, watching a harassed looking Aziraphale land at the foot of the driveway, wings out and messy. The angel took a moment to catch his breath.

“Hullo Aziraphale,” he greeted cheerfully. “How’s the dating going?”

“Oh it’s—erm. Look.” There was something desperate in his eyes. “About this match. It’s…I don’t. I really _really_ don’t think this will work.”

“Why not?”

“It’s—it’s _Gabriel!_ I can’t—this must be a joke, there’s no way I could have matched with him!”

“But you did match with him,” said Adam innocently.

“But—I—I can’t have! He’s awful. And have you seen what he _wears?_ * Ghastly!” The angel looked wretched at the thought of it.

*Gabriel dressed like he was on the cover of a glossy, highly conservative fashion magazine featuring lean, muscular men in dull neutral-coloured business attire, and radiating an almost tangible air of no-homo in a mile radius around. It made Aziraphale want to clutch at his bright paisley bow-tie in horror.

Adam took pity on him. “All right, I’m sorry. You were right.”

“Pardon?”

“It was a joke.”

“ _What?_ ”

Adam grinned sheepishly. “Just wanted to see if you really didn’t get along or if you just liked fighting.” Aziraphale gaped at him. “I would have gone through with it, but Gabriel’s already come by to complain, and ugh. Yeah, I can see why you don’t like him. He’s a right tosser.”

“Oh. So, I don’t have to—“

“No no. He’s been matched with someone else.”

“Oh thank _goodness_.”

“Here,” Adam waved his hand. Aziraphale caught the pink booklet as it materialized and fluttered down towards him. “There’s the real results. But you have to go with whoever you get this time, ok?”

“Yes, yes of course,” agreed Aziaphale, so relieved he would have agreed to just about anything.

“Cheer up! Only two more to go!” Adam picked up his bike and slung a leg over it, hoisting himself onto the seat.

“Right. Thank you, dear boy.”

“See you!”

“Goodbye.”

Aziraphale watched the boy turn onto the road and cycle off into the town.

He let out a long breath, the new results of the quiz held in his hand.

Last night he had dared to hope he would be matched with Crowley. The more he thought on it, the more he felt terribly foolish for not thinking of it before. Of _course_ he should be matched with Crowley. Hadn’t they already chosen each other, in so many little ways throughout all their long history together?

Aziraphale was in love with him.

He had never wanted for a romantic relationship because just being in Crowley’s company had been everything he had wanted.

Or so he had thought.

But now the subject had been brought up, now that romance and candles and such unspeakable intimacies as _hand holding_ and _snuggling_ had been brought into light…oh, to have that with Crowley?

It was dizzying to think of how badly he wanted it.

The trouble was, he wasn’t sure if Crowley felt the same. He had…something of a hunch that he did. He dearly hoped he was correct and that he hadn’t been reading his dearest friend wrong these last few days.

It was absolutely ridiculous they hadn’t matched before, come to think of it. He and Crowley were…it just felt so _right_. Surely they would match now?

Aziraphale looked down at the quiz.

Even if it wasn’t Crowley, it couldn’t be worse than Gabriel, he reasoned.

Then he saw who he had matched with.

He spluttered.

Maybe, just maybe, it could be worse than Gabriel.

~O~

Crowley lay face-down on his sofa, bemoaning his woes incoherently to his plants. His soul music collection was blasting loud enough to shake the walls and disturb the neighbors. As he didn’t feel like having upset neighbours banging on his door, they simply didn’t hear it.

The pink quiz lay crumpled on the floor where it had been banished some hours earlier.

He hadn’t got Aziraphale.

Of bloody course he hadn’t. That was just how things went, didn’t they, he thought bitterly, in an uncharacteristic bout of pessimism.

The more reasonable voice in his head (which sounded suspiciously like Aziraphale) said that of _course_ he had Aziraphale (dear boy). They’d had each other for a very long time, hadn’t they?

It was just all this dating toss up had blown something loose, rattled up their old routine and put things properly in perspective.

He was in love with Aziraphale. 

Had been, likely, for centuries, millennia even, little by little, sauntering into it as gradually and as naturally as breathing*.

*Which wasn’t natural at all to occult and ethereal beings. It was a choice, a habit they had picked up and adopted so thoroughly that stopping it felt Bad and Wrong instinctively.

He had good reason to believe it may be reciprocated.

What Crowley wanted right now was to call Aziraphale up, go over and just _be_ with the angel. Or at least spend the day sprawled around his apartment processing everything and getting increasingly giddy with the force of his epiphany. 

What he had to do was go on a date with an archangel.

It made him want to crawl under his couch cushions and curl up into a ball for a good week.

Adam had been very clear that there was to be no fighting or discorportaing whatsoever over the course of the dates.

Easy for him to say. Crowley didn’t think it would count as a fight if an archangel wanted to do away with him. It would be like an ant getting blasted with a laser torpedo. Not much of a fight at all.

He groaned into the cushioned padding of the couch.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

He would bloody well survive it just to see Aziraphale again at the other side.

Crowley wanted to see Aziraphale _now_.

He didn’t want to wait for two days, didn’t want to hazard through two more dates when he could be spending time with his angel. Maybe even confessing his feelings and being confessed to in return…

With a dramatic sigh he heaved himself off the couch, slumping over to his closet.

At least he was getting dinner out of this one.

~O~

It was one of the very best and most expensive sushi restaurants in London. Aziraphale had insisted on the location this time. If things went badly, he at least wanted to get a nice meal out of it.

So far the food had not disappointed. Aziraphale wore his favourite tweed coat and warmest tartan scarf as emotional armour. The green carnation Crowley had given him last night had been tucked safely into his button hole, migrating to the pocket of his shirt now he was inside.

Its presence was a great comfort to him as he tried his best not to make eye contact with the form across from him, valiantly focusing on eating pieces of maki spider roll as precisely and as viciously as he could.

He couldn’t let his guard down.

“More zake?”

“Thank you,” said the angel, stiffly.

His date watched him, something low and dangerous in his eyes like hellfire. The demon was eating food, or at least putting it in his mouth. What exactly happened after that was anyone’s guess, but there was a faint sound of buzzing and wailing at a register just under what any human could hear.

“Zo. You’re looking well.”

“I could say the same.” He wouldn’t.

“Aziraphale.”

“Mm.”

The demon’s nails rapped against the table.

“You were a Cherub.”

“You weren’t.”

He smiled, revealing too many rows of too long teeth. “I do remember you.”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale took a calculated sip of his sake. “From the apocalypse. Yes. Not so long ago, was it?”

“From before,” said Beelzebub.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“ _Before._ ”

Aziraphale blinked. “Before—the _Fall?_ ”

“Juzt zo.”

The angel froze.

Something strange crept into Beelzebub’s eyes. Stranger than whatever it was they normally did. “You were kind to me. Not many were.”

Abruptly, the angel felt the sake going to his head in a dizzying rush of panic and confusion. “I don’t…”

“I waz only a lowly Power at the time,” Beelzebub continued, voice soft. “Not many cared about how I felt. There waz only Luzifer.” His eyes sharpened. “And _you._ ”

Aziraphale stared a little desperately. “Me.”

“Yez. You did not know me. But you ztopped to talk. To cheer me up.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Aziraphale felt as if his life were flashing before his eyes. It was such a long time ago. But he did remember. Oh yes, little bits and pieces, coming back as he tried to grasp at them. 

A Power, downtrodden and ridiculed for believing that angels shouldn’t be cast aside in favour of humans. He had seemed so brokenhearted, sitting there all alone. Aziraphale remembered coming over to him, telling him gently that he didn’t really understand why God thought humans were so important either, but there must be something to it.

And then…oh.

Oh dear.

He remembered saying some unsavory things about Gabriel, about how he and Michael were a bit vicious when expressing their opinions, weren’t they? There was no need for all that holier-than-thou attitude, it was ridiculous! It had made the poor Power laugh, which is what he had been going for, and then Aziraphale had patted him on the back and told him to take care, and hadn’t thought on it since.

Thousands of years later, Aziraphale clutched his napkin in his lap desperately and stared at Beelzebub across from him.

The arch-demon was smiling, sharp teeth flashing as his mouth stretched unnaturally wide.

“I was mozt dizzapointed when you did not join uz.”

“Oh. Oh?”

“You would have done well az a demon. I would have zeen to it.”

“Er. Sorry to disappoint.”

Something softened in the arch-demon’s gaze, something nearly vulnerable stealing across his features. “I looked for you. After the Fall.”

Aziraphale laughed nervously. Then he stopped. Silently, he lowered his emphatic shielding.

This was not something he did often. On earth there were so many emotions everywhere, so many people feeling so many things, everywhere you turned was a new crisis, another injustice, another soul in torment. It was simply too much to feel all the time. No angel could ever hope to help every soul in need, never mind non-interference orders from Above.

Aziraphale had been on earth for six-thousand years. It was shield himself or go mad from it. He sometimes suspected he went too far, could be too impassive to those in need, too quick to turn away. But he’d bloody well like to see any of them give it a go without developing unconventional coping mechanisms*.

*Like locking himself in his bookshop for a week and re-reading the entire _Dream of the Red Chamber_ until he’d blocked out the latest atrocity he hadn’t the slightest chance of stopping. It was a delicate game of guilt, avoidance and planned ignorance, all for the cause of warding off any creeping despair.

Bracing himself, he reached out with his aura and allowed himself to feel what was coming off of Beelzebub.

He choked.

It wasn’t exactly affection. It wasn’t not affection either. There was respect, even admiration. Something else, something much more complicated hovering between pride and frustration and just a touch of smug avarice.

Beelzebub’s smile widened.

Aziraphale withdrew his aura as if it he had been burned.

“You’re serous.”

“Yez.”

“Ah.”

“The offer ztandz. You could do very well for yourzelf in Hell.”

The angel drew himself up importantly. “I rather think I have done well for myself.”

“You have a backbone. Not many do. We need more of them in Hell.” He grinned. “Not juzt the onez we rip out.”

“Well! That sounds like your problem right there? Counter productive, isn’t it?”

“Hah! Zee.”

“Everyone has their own set of principals.”

“You dizobeyed direct orderz from Heaven.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

Beelzebub frowned. “Ah yez. Crawly.”

“ _Crowley_ , thank you.” He glared at the demon. “Really, what kind of arch-demon can’t remember the names of those working for them?

“I do not pretend to underztand your attraction to him. You could do zo much better.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re offering,” said Azirphale, something sharp and flaming and furious glinting behind his eyes. “But if you ever even _think_ of hurting Crowley you will be very sorry.”

Beelzebub sat back in his seat, a deep buzzing laugh rumbling inside his chest, like a nest of bees that had been hit with a stick. “Ah, they don’t know what they have in you Upztairs. I can offer you _zo_ much more.”

“No thank you.”

“Power?”

“Bothersome, isn’t it?”

“A nize offize?”

“I’m quite fond of my own, thank you.”

“All the bookz you could ever want?”

“This that all you have to offer?” He scoffed. “Look. I don’t want power. I don’t want an office, and certainly not one in Hell. And books?” The angel gestured. “What better place to get them than on earth? And anyway, half the fun is in collecting them. No, you’ve nothing to offer me.”

“You have potential as a demon. You could be zo powerful. Ruthlezz. Zelfizh. Gluttonuz. You know you have theze qualitiez.”

Aziraphale’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re right,” he said evenly. “I’m not the most virtuous angel. But if I’ve learned anything from earth, it’s that knowing and doing are very different things. I have potential for doing terrible things, yes. But so does everyone. It comes down to what we choose to do. And I will make my own choices.”

Beelzebub sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms, a deeply pensive look coming into his eyes. “Hmm.” The faint buzzing sound got louder.

Aziraphale took advantage of this to polish off the last of the unagi rolls, smearing them with wasabi and dipping them liberally in soy sauce. He was carting off most of the dragon roll to his own plate when Beelzebub stirred.

“Crowley.”

Azirphale looked up sharply. Beelzebub was watching him, a smile oozing across his face.

“That’z it. That’z what you want, izn’t it?” The demon leaned forward. “I can give him to you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Crowley could be yourz. For all eternity. No one could contezt it.

Aziraphale lowered his chopsticks. “I’m sorry, did you say you would _give_ me Crowley?”

Beelzebub opened his mouth.

“Do you mean that you think Crowley is something you can just _give_ me, and I’d be happy with that?” Aziraphale demanded, ploughing right over him. “You are _absolutely_ wrong! There is nothing—“ he jabbed a chopstick at the demon— “ _nothing_ , I want from Crowley that you can _make_ him give me. What I want from Crowley is only what he is willing to give—freely! Of his own accord! No blackmail, no threatening, nothing! Do you understand me?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t _hmm_. And don’t you go threatening him in my presence! Don’t threaten him at all! In fact you’d better back right off—and have your lackeys do so as well—I won’t have any of you bothering him and forcing him to do things he hates! You’ll leave him well enough alone, do you hear me?”

“He really doez make you zo happy?”

Aziraphale paused in his angry tirade. “Yes. Oh yes,” he said. “Very much.”

“Well…” Beelzebub grumbled unhappily. “Zo long az he makez you happy Hell will leave him alone.” The arch-demon held his hand out across that table. The fingers ended in claw-like nails. “A favour for a favour. For what you did for me before.”

“Ye—hang on.” Aziraphale glared. “Oho. _No_. I don’t think so. Nice try. As long as he makes me happy, you say.” The angel sat back and crossed his arms. “No. I’m afraid that won’t do at all. You do not bother Crowley whatsoever.”

Beelzebub growled. “But if he doezn’t make you happy—“

“It doesn’t matter if he makes me miserable!”

“But—“

“No! No buts! I don’t care what terrible deeds he does in any hypothetical situation, you are to leave him well and alone, you understand?”

Beelzebub stared at him. Aziraphale felt his aura being sized up, examined, checked thoroughly for any resistance or weakness of will. There was none. Aziraphale had realized exactly how much Crowley meant to him, everything had clicked fully into place.

His will was as stone.

The arch-demon pulled back, something about his expression softening. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

“Hell will not bother or punizh Crowley,” he said.

Beelzebub held out his hand.

“And you won’t get any humans to do it either,” said Aziraphale suspiciously.

“No.”

“If any danger does befall him, it’s me who’ll come looking for names.”

“I would expect no lezz.”

“Good. Well then. We have an understanding.”

He grasped Beelzebub’s hand.

The arch-demon’s hand clasped about his own, hard, vice-like, but careful not to hurt.

“Crowley comez to no harm from the forzes of Hell or from our influenzes,” said the demon.

“Agreed.”

“ _Unlezz_ ,” Beelzebub stressed, angry buzzing rising from deep in his chest. “Unlezz,” he continued before Aziraphale could object, “You perzonally azk me to hurt him.”

“I would _never!_ Unless—ohh, _don’t_ you go and try to get me possessed. It won’t work!”

“Under your own power. No pozzezzion. No coerzing. No blackmail. And no Heavenly interfearenze. Only your own will.”

“That is _not_ going to happen!” cried the angel, trying to twist his hand out of the demon’s grasp. It was held too firmly.

“Then it zhouldn’t be a problem.”

“It won’t be a problem because I _won’t_ agree to it!”

“Then there iz no deal.”

“Well _bugger_ you then! Let go of me!”

“Will you lizten?”

“Will you let go of my hand!”

“Aziraphale. Ztop.”

“ _You_ stop!”

“Lizten. Pleaze.”

It was the please that did him in. Oddly sincere. It caught him off guard. He huffed angrily, giving his hand one last petulant pull. He glared at the demon, quietly trying to set him aflame with his Will. The slight amusement in Beelzebub’s eyes told him he was severely outclassed in that endeavor. Bugger.

“Let go of me,” he ground out.

“Thiz firzt.”

Aziraphale huffed again. He stopped trying to extract his hand and just focused on getting his breathing under control. “I’m not agreeing to anything if it puts Crowley in danger,” he said, emotion choking his voice. “I can’t…”

“I am not azking you to,” said the arch-demon quietly. “Az much az it painz me to zay it.”

“Then—“

“Let me do thiz. Crowley will only come to harm if you exprezzively tell me you want him to be. That iz the only condition. He will be zafe otherwize. Thiz I zwear.”

Aziraphale glared at him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. I zupoze. Do you think you can truzt me?”

Aziraphale sent out his aura, raked the demon with it, searching for any trace of treachery, any loophole sniggering at him from the shadows. He found none. He pulled back, staring at the demon warily.

“I damn well hope you’re not lying. For your sake. You would do well to remember that I am a Guardian. I was made to protect. And I can promise you I will.”

Beelzebub smiled widely, all his long, sharp teeth gleaming in the lamplight. “You are wazted on Heaven,” he said warmly.

Aziraphale sniffed. “I’m done with Heaven. I want nothing to do with either side.” He wriggled his fingers in the demon’s hold. “A favour for a favour then.”

“Zo it iz done.”

Beelzebub shook his hand, then released it. Aziraphale snatched it back, rubbing his wrist mistrustfully. It wasn’t bruised at all, to his surprise. Not even reddened.

He sniffed. “Yes. Well.”

“Dezzert?” oozed the demon.

“I don’t know that I should.”

“They have fried ice cream.”

“Hm. Maybe a taste.”

“It iz on me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Oh no. We’re even now. I won’t have myself falling into your debt.”

“Pleaze. Allow me. For the enjoyable converzation. It iz not everyday zomeone talkz back to me. It iz mozt refrezhing.”

“What about Lucifier. Er. You two are…”

“Together. Yez.”

“Ah. Right.”

“But frezh converzation iz alwayz a treat.”

“Erm. If you don’t mind me asking, how is that…going? You and Lucifer?”

“It iz good.”

“Oh. Oh good. You’re…happy?”

“Yez. I have no complaintz. He valuez loyalty above all elze. None have been az much az I.”

“Er. Congratulations?”

“I alzo value loyalty. I do not forget favourz.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“If you ever tire of Earth or need zhelter from Heaven…azk for me. I will zee you are comfortable.”

He stiffened. “It won’t happen.”

“Juzt the zame.”

“You are stubborn, aren’t you?”

Amusement glowed in Beelzebub’s eyes. “I am uzed to getting my way, yez. And you are no better.”

“Hah!” Aziraphale resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the demon. He was…being surprisingly sincere. It was jarring. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. Then he waved his chopstick at the demon. “Though it won’t come up, I tell you.”

“Of courze not,” Beelzebub said indulgently. “But juzt in caze.”

The demon smiled at him across the table, no hint of malice in his eyes at all.

~O~

“So, er…”

Crowley was floundering. He was in one of the higher end Italian restaurants of London. He’d been here before. Home turf advantage was his, and for that he was grateful.

He felt woefully unprepared.

He’d put on his favourite sleek button-down shirt, forgone any shoes (just his very own scales would do) and shrugged into one of Aziraphale’s cardigans he had swiped from the angel and hidden away in his closet. It was a warm, chunky knit, soft from decades of wear, and patterned with argyle. A row of knitted ducks made their way around its middle. It was far too big on him. Crowley loved it.

Even with his angel’s cardigan, he still struggled to make eye contact with the archangel across from him.

“You run Heaven’s infirmary, right?”

“Yes.” Raphael sat calmly across the table from him, taking even bites of their Capesante. “I do.”

Raphael had never bothered with the concept of genders and seemed quite at home in an ambiguous body, wearing a long cream-coloured shift tied round the waist. They looked a bit like an elf, with the long, elegant limbs and flowing, silvery hair. And elf, or a vampire that never got the goth memo.

“Right. And, uh,” Crowley cast about for something to say. “How’s that been working out?”

“I can’t complain. I’m largely left alone to do as I please.”

“Nice,” said Crowley desperately. “That’s—nice.”

Raphael was staring at him. They had been since they’d met, in a slow, thoughtful sort of way of a person trying to place something. On a human it might have been a bit odd, but not unnerving. On an archangel…

Crowley rubbed his feet together under the table and grabbed up his wine glass, taking a sip and wondering how quickly he could shovel his gnocchi into his mouth and run off without insulting them.

You did not want to insult an archangel*.

*Unless you were Aziraphale and the archangel was Gabriel. Because Gabriel was a bastard and deserved what he got.

“You worked in the garden.”

Raphael’s voice was smooth and melodious. If you listened very carefully you could hear it threaded with the sound of tiny silvery bells and what may have been a bamboo flute, calming and soothing like a stream.

The effect was lost on Crowley, who choked on his wine, managing to lower his glass without spilling as he spluttered. “Mngk?”

Raphael was unruffled. “You tended the gardens in the fourth sphere.” They sat back in their seat, features softening in satisfaction. “I remember now.”

Crowley blinked behind his sunglasses. Bless _someone_. The gardens. That was a very long time ago. He hadn’t thought about his pre-Fall days in ages.

“Eh heh.” He tried to surreptitiously wipe his mouth. “Ye-yeah.”

A gentle smiled crossed Raphael’s face. “You grew the most beautiful flowers. I was especially fond of the orchids. Do you still keep it up?”

“Er. It?”

“Growing things. Plants.”

“Mnn…yeah. Hah. A bit. I’ve…got a few plants.”

“Have you any pictures of them?” asked Raphael, looking very interested.

“Oh yeah, loads.” Crowley dug out his phone hastily, nearly dropping it in his nervousness. He opened one of his favourite plant albums and leaned over the table with it. “Here.”

Raphael peered down at the screen eagerly. They swiped from picture to picture, delight shining in their eyes. “Wonderful! They’re so lush.”

“Oh I know how to handle them,” said Crowley, feeling very proud of himself. “Have to keep them on their little grassy toes. Can’t have them getting sloppy.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket. “I’d like to have a greenhouse one day,” he offered.

“Marvelous.” Raphael smiled. “Your compassion does you credit.”

Crowley froze, getting horrible flashbacks from his second date.

“Oh, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” said the archangel quickly. “Only it must have been difficult to keep it after all you’ve been through.”

Crowley felt something soft and warm stretch out towards him. It was their aura, he realized with a jolt. Raphael was reaching out with their aura. To offer…comfort. To a demon.

“I can’t image it’s been easy for you,” they said, voice low and soft.

Crowley felt his mouth go dry. Something suspiciously like tears pricked at the back of his eyes. “Ngk. I’ve—er.” He sniffed. “Heard good things about you.” He flashed the angel a nervous grin. “I remember you were one of the reasonable ones.”

Raphael laughed, a light airy sound like a wind chime. “Thank you. That is high praise.”

“Aziraphale speaks highly of you,” said Crowley carefully. He watched the angel’s face, waiting to see if any expression of annoyance or disgust would cross it. That was his cue to manifest a purse and start shoving breadsticks into it.

Raphael’s eyes were fond. “Did he? It’s most kind of him. He speaks very highly of you as well.”

Crowley froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “He’s talked about me?”

The angel seemed to misinterpret his tone. “Crowley, you have nothing to fear. Aziraphale would not betray you.”

“Of—of bloody _course_ not!” he spluttered, insulted. “He’s my _friend!_ He would never—“

“I know. I know, Crowley,” soothed Raphael. Crowley settled down, sending the angel an unfriendly look. “I should explain myself. I am…” The archangel traced the rim of their wine glass with slender fingers. “Something of a neutral force in Heaven.”

Crowley eyed them across the table. “How’s that work then?”

“The humans started it. The Hippocratic Oath. Commendable I thought. I devote myself to the care of my patients and to their keeping. It’s not my business what they get up to. Or even what side they’re on, as far as I care. I heal. I am not made for destruction, nor do I have any desire to turn my hands to it. The normal rules of Heaven do not apply in my infirmary. It would not be fair.” Raphael smiled. “I suppose you could say, what happens in the infirmary stays in the infirmary.”

“And Michael and all them are all right with it?”

Something mischievous flashed in their eyes. “No, not at all,”

“Hah!”

“There’s not much they can do about it.” Raphael’s tone was almost smug. “The infirmary is _my_ domain.”

“Nice one.”

“Why thank you.”

The silence was more comfortable than it had been. Crowley ate his gnocchi, trying to savor the taste. A thought nagged at him, stealing away his appetite. He lowered his fork.

“You said Aziraphale spoke of me,” he began slowly. Raphael nodded. “So. He was—he was in the infirmary?”

“At the time, yes.”

“What—“ Crowley swallowed. “When was this?”

It was possible sometimes, that an angel or demon would sustain enough damage that they had to go back Up (or Down) to recover from it. Occasionally the act of discorporation and the circumstances surrounding it would be damaging enough to leave them out of commission for some time. 

Crowley had _never_ tried to harm Aziraphale. But sometimes, early on…there had been accidents. One hadn’t known the other was there, an angel getting caught off guard in a demon’s wiles, a demon catching the wrong end of a divine thwarting, simply by unlucky chance at being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It had happened. It was a large part of their making the Arrangement. If they knew where the other was, there wouldn’t be any more accidents. No one would get _hurt_.

A cool hand covered his own, thin and long. Utterly unlike Aziraphale’s.

“Crowley. Be at peace. You were not responsible. Knowingly or otherwise.” Crowley let out a long breath. “Aziraphale had a brush with a place of particularly strong infernal taint some two-thousand years ago. It took him some weeks to recover. All he spoke of was how sorry he was to miss out on dinner with you.”

Crowley laughed a little shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s my angel. Never would pass up a good meal.”

The angel withdrew their hand. They gave him a significant look. “I suspect it was the company, if I may be so bold to say.”

“Gossipy, aren’t you angels?”

“We have to get up to something. Outright violence isn’t really an option to us.”

Crowley laughed.

“He cares for you very much,” continued Raphael. “Aziraphale. All the while he was in my care, it wasn’t anything I was doing that helped him recover. It was talking about _you_ , and doing everything he could to get better so he could go back and see you again.”

Crowley felt his face heating up in a wild blush. “That’s-that's the most cheesy thing I’ve _ever_ heard. You’re making that up!”

Raphael smiled. “Perhaps I exaggerate.”

“Hah!”

“But thinking of you brought him such comfort. I know this. It’s what I am made for.”

While a large part of Crowley was happy to roll about insensibly in happiness, a smaller more suspicious part was asking the important questions.

“Why are you telling me this?” He watched the angel carefully. “Are you…tempting me into a relationship with him? _I_ am the expert at temptation. You can’t do it.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think I need to.” Crowley made an offended sound. They were right though, bless them. “It’s very clear to me that you both care for each other a great deal.”

“Yes,” admitted Crowley after a moment. Then he took off his sunglasses and met the archangel’s gaze directly. “If we do this, if he and I are together— _properly_ —will he…” he took a breath. “Will he be Punished?”

“Adam has made it very clear—“

“This isn’t about Adam,” he said sharply. “We don’t know what will happen when and if Adam dies—this is about Heaven. _Please_. I have to know. Will being with me cause him harm? I won’t…” he swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I won’t have that.”

Oh he _wanted_ Aziraphale, he wanted to be near him, to make him laugh and scoff, to wake up next to him every day and make a nuisance of himself while he was trying to read. But if his affection would be the cause of punishment, then…

“No Crowley.” Raphael looked at him solemnly across the table. “He won’t. Heaven has decided to leave Aziraphale alone.”

He shot Raphael a hard look. “And if they change their minds?”

“There would be a trial, and a vote. I can promise you enough of us either don’t care what Aziraphale does, or will side in his favor simply to annoy Gabriel.”

Crowley let out a shaky breath. “Promise me you will speak up for him if it happens. Please. If there’s anything I can do, anything I can offer you, I will, just— _please_. Promise me.”

“Of course,” said Raphael, brow creasing. “Crowley, of course I’ll look out for him. You need give me nothing.”

Crowley felt as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders. He took a moment to compose himself. “Thank you,” he managed, dizzy from it.

Raphael watched him, respect and admiration clear on their face.“I am glad to have met you, Crowley. You are truly a remarkable soul. Such compassion. Such love…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Like he’d never heard that before. Crowley crossed his legs, slouching down in his seat more comfortably. “Don’t spread it 'round.”

“You would have made a remarkable angel.”

Crowley sniffed, wiping a speck of lint off his shirt*.“I’d like to think I’m a remarkable demon.”

*It wasn’t there before, but he had wanted it to be, and so it had.

Raphael’s eyes were very fond. “Yes. That too. But you would have made quite the healer. Should you ever need help, should Hell ever set their wiles against you, know that you can call for me. I will look out for you.”

Crowley froze, his wine glass half way to his mouth. He took a large gulp, hand shaking slightly. He put it down heavily. “Urm. Ye..ah?”

“Yes.”

“Ha ha. Ha.” He picked up his glass and took a large gulp.

“Crowley.” The archangel leaned in. “I am in earnest.”

“Ha? Ugh…ngk. Why?” Crowley asked in a small confused voice.

“Because you have so much love in you. Because you have been so loyal for so long to the one you love. And because I can see the damage Hell has caused you.” They smiled sadly. “It’s rent across the fabric of your soul in a terrible scar. Yet you still have such divine compassion. It’s remarkable.”

Crowley’s mind was racing, a dizzying feeling of embarrassment, indignity and panic at being picked apart washing over him. A part of him was flattered and welcomed the praise. Another part was simply very, very tired.

Why couldn’t he just be accepted as himself?

“Crowley,” continued Raphael gently. “Should you ever decide to return to Heaven, know that I will speak for you. No harm will befall you, should you wish to return.”

The demon was still for a long moment. Then he let out a breath, only a little bit shaky. He put his sunglasses back on, and gave Raphael a winning smile, only a little bit wobbly. “Not really my scene. Heaven. Never could follow orders very well. Besides,” he shrugged, feeling more himself again. “It cramped my style.”

A slow smile stretched across the archangel’s face. “A terrible thing.”

“It is.”

“You do seem happy down here. On Earth.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” said Crowley honestly. 

Raphael stared at him. “You really mean that.”

Crowley flushed and fidgeted with his napkin. “Er. Yeah. Where else can I drive my Bentley anyway?”

“Then I am glad for you.”

“Me too.”

Raphael leaned back, a pensive look coming into their eyes. “I admire Earth, but can’t really say I care for it. Not in the way you do. Happily my interests have always been more contained to my practice.”

“Nice. Glad that worked out.”

“Indeed. But should things ever change, my offer still stands.”

“Er. Thanks.” Crowley squirmed at the sincerity. “No really, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

~O~

The streets of Soho were busy tonight, people bustling about, the thin layer of snow laying over the rooftops and streets adding a serene look to the place.

Aziraphale walked briskly, mind racing.

A part of him that had enjoyed that. Aziraphale didn’t want to dwell on it, nor did he want to think about the small part of him that was flattered at the attention.

He filed the information away under ‘Just In Case’, shut the metaphorical drawer, locked it, and focused on the epiphany looming ahead of him.

The bookshop door closed behind Aziraphale. He heaved a deep sigh and held out his hand, catching the new quiz as it materialized before him.

The last one.

A feeling of indignity rose up in him.

He didn’t want to wait another day to see Crowley. They _deserved_ to be matched.

And Aziraphale was going to see to it that they did.

~O~

Crowley stepped into his flat, too preoccupied to notice how his plants straightened up at his presence.

Raphael had been understanding. Alarmingly so. But he was tired, so tired of everyone calling him an anomaly, pointing out how different he was, how good of an angel he _could_ have been. As if there was something tragic about him as he was. As if he were incomplete.

He just wanted to be with the one person who cared for him as he was, who knew every part of him and _liked_ him for it.

Maybe even loved him.

With a flash, the quiz materialized in front of him. He caught it, glaring down at the pink pages.

“I’ve played by your rules,” he told it. “And I’m done with that.”

Adam wanted them to answer this thing honestly, right?

He’d bloody well give it honesty. He’d tell it _exactly_ what he wanted and wouldn’t leave room for it to give him anything less.

~O~

Aziraphale tapped his pen against the paper, reading over the quiz.

“Preferences, here we go.” He smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to put down some deal breakers. Let’s see…must own a car. That’s important…a vintage one, let’s say. Oh, how about a black 1926 Bentley. Custom made. With a cassette player.” He underlined the next part. “ _Only_ plays Queen…”

~O~

“They’ll need to be well read.” Crowley scribbled it down on the answer sheet. “It’s all right if they don’t know all their media but they’ve got to know their books. And own a bookshop in Soho, London. Have owned it for over three hundred years. Erratic opening hours. Refuses to let anyone buy _anything_ …”

~O~

“Must have an affinity with snakes, I really can’t stand someone who doesn’t appreciate them! Dresses sharply, sunglasses I think. Owns a sketch of the Mona Lisa…and an embarrassing statue of an angel and demon ‘wrestling’, can’t forget that. Has many fancy appliances, none of them plugged in. And a terrified yet very lush collection of houseplants.” Aziraphale smiled. “A gentle soul, but a sharp wit and just the right kind of humor. I want someone that makes me think, but respects me for who I am…”

~O~

“Must dress like an outdated professor.” A grin split Crowley’s face. “A _gay_ professor, with flamboyant bow-ties and handkerchiefs and terrible tartan everywhere… Must have experience with a sword. Knows how to gavotte. Owns a complete collection of the infamous bibles, and a signed first edition of _The Portrait of Dorian Grey_ , with a long personal note from the author addressed to them, specifically.”

He paused and really thought for a moment. “I won’t have anyone unkind. They have to mean well, even if they’re a little absent minded. I want someone strong and soft, someone that will let me blather on at four in the morning when I’m off my head. Someone patient and understanding…”

~O~

“Someone who won’t take my introversion as disinterest. Someone I can just _be_ with, without having to be anything, or do anything. Someone who can see past my faults but won’t hesitate to tell me when I’m being obtuse…” Aziraphale trailed off. “Someone who won’t let me fall,” he said quietly. “And wouldn’t judge me if I did.”

~O~

“Someone who will be my friend, no matter what form I take. Someone who’s never been afraid of me, who can see my worth and not want me to be anything else.” Crowley filled out his quiz, ticking off boxes without mind for how he came off. “I need someone I can talk to. Someone I can relate to. That’s what really matters. So I think the big deal breaker here—“

~O~

“What is an absolute Must, with No Exceptions, is—“

~O~

“That they must—“

~O~

“Love—“

~O~

“Earth.”

~O~

“Earth.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked over his answers. “Yes, that should do nicely.”

He sat back and smiled to himself.

“Oh, I _wonder_ who I’ll be matched with?”

~O~

“And that’s my final word on the matter!” said Crowley grandly, finishing the quiz with a flourish.

He had a feeling he would enjoy his next date immensely.

_Whoever_ he got, of course.


	5. Chapter Five

They met in St. James Park.

Aziraphale was sitting on their usual bench, a thick novel open in his lap which he ignored in favour of watching the pond in front of him. Weak winter sunlight cast a gentle glow across the park, lighting in the angel’s hair and catching up his gold-rimmed glasses. He wore a thick tartan scarf, one that Crowley had given him many years ago. The green carnation was sitting proudly in his buttonhole.

Crowley watched him for a long moment, standing a little ways down the path.

The sight of the angel, just sitting there, calm and still and constant, waiting for Crowley—as he had been, as he always had been—Crowley couldn’t have kept the smile from his face if Satan himself had appeared and declared a new apocalypse. It was like he was filled with energy, with whatever it was that made a dog’s tail wag, that giddy, hopeless excitement filling his whole being at the sight of Aziraphale, sitting there so calmly, waiting—waiting for _him_.

Aziraphale felt someone stop just by his bench. He looked up.

“ _Mr_. Fell.” Crowley was standing with his hands in the pockets of his fashionable black pea coat, smiling at him warmly behind his sunglasses.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hastily put his book down on bench. “Here, come sit! You silly thing,” he chided, patting the spot next to him invitingly. 

Crowley grinned. He flopped down, sitting as close as he dared, their sides just touching. Any contact would be seen as purely accidental.

Aziraphale adjusted himself as surreptitiously as he could*, shifting closer so their arms were pressed up against each other.

*It was glaringly obvious.

“Hi,” said Crowley breathlessly.

The angel laughed softly. “Hello, my dear. Isn’t…isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

“Ye _ah."_

“I’m…surprised it didn’t happened sooner, really. After all we…”

“Compatibility,” offered Crowley.

“Right.”

“And we’re—y’know…”

“Exactly,” agreed Aziraphale hastily. “Why, I shouldn’t think there’s a single angel and demon who could have a more comfortable date. We’ve had so much practice together after all.”

“Mhn.”

“Not that is a—ah, you know, a _date_ —“

“Right, no right, course not.”

“But not that I wouldn’t, er. That is…”

They sat in embarrassed silence. A pigeon wandered over to them, leaving little footprints in the thin layer of snow. It pecked at the ground doubtfully, and gave a little coo.

A handful of seeds found themselves very surprised to be in Crowley’s palm. He tossed them gently, the pigeon fluttering about after them in a delighted flurry.

Aziraphale’s foot nudged up against Crowley’s bare scaled one. Crowley pressed back.

“Brought you something." The angel watched curiously as Crowley dug through his coat pocket. He hesitated for a moment, then produced a red heart-shaped box. “Here.”

It was pressed into his hands. The box was tied with a black velvet ribbon. There was a little card tucked under the bow. Aziraphale traced a little drawing of a snake where the name of the gifter would go, something very warm growing in his chest.

“ _Oh._ ”

“Just thought—y’know. It’s like…dating etiquette.” Crowley blushed furiously as he watched the angel open the box. “And there’s chocolates everywhere, y’know, thought I’d spread some of that lust and gluttony around. I know you like them. S’ coffee cream*,” he added nervously.

*In general, Aziraphale wasn’t best pleased with a cup of coffee. Coffee _flavor_ however—especially coffee paired with chocolate—was a whole other matter.

Aziraphale looked at the neat little rows of expensive chocolates wordlessly. He settled the lid back on, smoothing a hand over the top and miracling the ribbon back into place.

“Oh my dear. _Thank_ you.”

His hand found Crowley’s where it rested atop the demon’s knee. He gave it a squeeze.

“Ngk.” Crowley squirmed and blushed into the collar of his coat. Smug pride swelled in his chest. He had made his angel _happy_.

“I also have a…a token.”

“Oh angel,” laughed Crowley fondly. “No one gives tokens any more.”

Aziraphale huffed, trying his best to look offended. “ _Well_. Then you don’t have to have it.” He turned his body away from his companion, trying to hide his smile.

Crowley chased him, getting into his space. “But angel, I _want_ it.”

“Oh do you?”

“ _Yessss,_ ” hissed Crowley, nearly in his ear.

He yelped at the ticklish sensation, swatting at him. Crowley grinned. “Well.” Aziraphale sniffed haughtily, trying to look stern. “Now I just don’t know. It’s only a _token_ after all…”

“Come onnnn,” whined Crowley. “You’ve got to. I gave you a present.”

Aziraphale sighed, dramatically put out. “I sup _pose._ ”

“C’mon. Gimme the goods!”

“Oh all right. You wicked thing, you.” He bumped his shoulder against Crowley’s. Crowley grinned at him, nudging him back, staying in his space, half draped over his arm.

“Lean back,” Aziraphale instructed. Crowley did so.

“Should I close my eyes?”

“Oh, yes! Do. And no peeking.” Aziraphale pulled something out of his pocket. He leaned towards Crowley. “I’ll know if you cheated.”

“How dare you make such outrageous accusations on my good character!”

Aziraphale sniggered. “Hush you. Now hold still.”

Crowley felt a soft tug on his coat.

“There,” said Aziraphale after a moment. “You can look now.”

Crowley did. There was a green carnation tucked into his buttonhole. Aziraphale hadn’t moved away, and now he fussed with it, plump hands patting down the demon’s sleek grey scarf and tugging his lapels to lay just so. When he was satisfied he lent back, surveying his work proudly.

“Now we match.” He smiled.

“Y-yeah.” Crowley’s cheeks flushed a brilliant pink. His hand slowly crept up, reverently touching the carnation. It bloomed, bursting with fullness. Aziraphale’s did the same. “Yeah. We do, don’t we?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, utterly caught up in the rush of it, the affection, yet neither entirely sure how to bridge that gap.

Crowley cleared his throat. He felt very warm*.

*This was unusual as Crowley tended to run cold. Funnily enough, being cold-blooded will do that to person.

“The Ritzzz?” He asked, a slight hiss slipping in despite himself. “Our ussssual table?”

“That would be lovely,” said Aziraphale.

“We’ve got to do this date thing and all.”

“Yes. Yes, we ought to go though with it.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

“Did you want to walk? The Bentley’s just—“

“Hello you two!”

He was cut off by a very familiar voice.

It was Adam.

If they had turned to look at each other, Aziraphale and Crowley would have seen matching expressions of guilt and embarrassment painted across their faces. As it was, both angel and demon were too transfixed on the boy cheerfully dismounting his bike and coming towards their little bench like the harbinger of a second apocalypse, with infinitely smaller and yet with infinitely more important stakes.

Aziraphale stood abruptly, as if it could somehow help him hide the sins. Crowley mirrored him, all tense anxious energy.

“Oh Adam! How, how nice—“

“Hey. How’s—hey.”

“Don’t worry.” Adam grinned. “I’m not angry.”

“Oh, uh—“

“Er—“

“You did it! It worked!” He beamed at them. “I couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what—“ stammered Aziraphale.

“You chose! You picked free will!” continued Adam gleefully. “Everyone else has just been accepting whoever they get matched with—and some of them have made great discoveries but a lot of them haven’t—but not you two. You _chose_.”

“Eugh,” said Crowley.

“Mmm hmm?” 

“Here. I think you’ll be wanting these.” He handed them each a quiz and gave them both a significant look*.“Read them.”

*About as much of a significant look a friendly teenaged boy can when he’s grinning like a numpty and not drawing on his arguably occult or arguably ethereal powers.

Then he turned and got back on his bike.

“Enjoy your date!” He called. “And Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Adam rode off through the park, Dog chasing after him and barking happily.

The angel and demon stood where he left them.

Aziraphale sniffed. “Funny boy,” he managed.

“Right! No idea what he was on about.”

“Oh no, no, not at all. Ha ha.”

Crowley looked down at the quiz in his hand. He had assumed it was his own, but now as he looked he saw it wasn’t his writing. It was a neat, copperplate script he would recognize anywhere.

“Here, I think he’s given us…” Crowley trailed off, eyes catching on the page.

_…scaly feet and have a tremendously flexible tongue. Must have a tendency to hiss when inebriated or experiencing high emotions, and have _beautiful_ golden eyes…_

“Oh. Oh my,” breathed Aziraphale. He was also looking at his own quiz, which wasn’t in fact his. A familiar messy sprawl jumped out at him.

_…love to eat, especially sushi and those little cream pastries from that café off Piccadilly Circus. Must shamelessly eat most of my dessert as well as their own when we’re out. Makes endless mugs of hot cocoa and forgets to drink them because they’re reading…_

Their eyes met. The both blushed.

There was a long uncomfortable silence.

“Did you mean it?” asked Crowley quietly, something very vulnerable about him.

They were at a crossroads. There was the easy way out, where Aziraphale could claim he had written what he had, hoping to get Crowley simply to avoid going on another date with an unknown party. After all, they were friends, right? No need to mention any other feelings. The status quo could be kept, and they could go on as they had, each safely staying in their lane so to speak, acting out their Arrangement as separate agents mutually benefiting off their situation.

Or…

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. “I did. Did you?”

Crowley nodded jerkily. “Yeah. I did. Angel, I…” Crowley reached out. His hand moved slowly up to Aziraphale’s arm. It closed around the soft fabric of his coat, tentative, hopeful, a soft tug on his sleeve.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale stepped closer. He pulled the demon, his demon, his _Crowley_ , into an embrace. “My dear," he murmured fondly.

Crowley froze for a long breathless moment, then utterly _melted_ against him, clinging like the serpent he was. He grabbed handfuls of his soft coat, just breathing in Aziraphale’s comforting smell, his softness, the warm weight of him. Soft curls tickled his cheek. It felt like coming home.

Aziraphale smiled into Crowley’s coat running a hand down his back. Crowley was long and slim, sharp angles jutting out in places and spine twisting in a subtly inhuman way. By all means he should have been uncomfortable to hold so. It felt utterly Right, having him close like this. He didn’t want to let go.

“ _Angel_ ,” whispered Crowley, something nearly broken in his voice.

“Crowley. My Crowley...”

Eventually they broke apart, staying close, neither wanting to move out of the others space.

“Shall we do the Ritz?” asked Aziraphale, eyes bright.

“Actually…I was hoping we could go back to yours and get some takeout.”

“Oh.” The angel blinked. He smiled. “Oh yes. Yes please! That would be lovely. I’ve rather had enough of this whole dating business.”

“Mn?”

“Oh no. I only meant. I’d much rather it was just you.” Aziraphale fussed with Crowley’s scarf, stroking the soft fabric. “That’s all I want, you see,” he said quietly. “No crowds, no waiters. Just you.”

“Y-yeah.” Crowley abruptly turned away. He took a moment to compose himself and turned back. He cleared his throat and offered his arm with a courtly nod. "Shall we?"

Aziraphale smiled. He took Crowley’s arm, tucking himself into his side. Then he reached up, placing a soft hand on Crowley’s chest to steady himself, and kissed his cheek.

Behind his glasses, Crowley’s slitted pupils rounded in shock, warmth crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“N-nuh. T-that’s not fair!”

“My dear.” Aziraphale laughed and patted his hand. “This from a demon.”

“You’re an angel, angel.”

“And _I_ don’t have to play fair with _you._ ”

Crowley laughed. He grinned down at his angel, delighted. “No, you don’t. Not with me.”

“We know each other much too well for that,” said Aziraphale warmly, and gave Crowley’s arm a little squeeze. “Don’t we?”

"Yes. We _do_."

~O~

It was later.

They sat together on the squashy couch in the backroom, just as they had countless times before. Unlike previous times, they sat much closer together, brushing hands and legs as they made short work of the Indian take-out spread over the low coffee table. An empty bottle of wine was off to one side, a new one had already been started on.

“He was awful!” Crowley said around a bite of samosa. “All sleek and perfectly put together.” He swallowed. “ _Bastard_. Kept tormenting the waitress, nearly made her drop her dish.”

Aziraphale gasped, tearing off a piece of naan and using it to wipe up the last of the saag paneer. “No!”

“Oh he did,” Crowley swung his arm around to point at the angel. “But I wasn’t having with that.”

“Of _course_ not,” said Aziraphale warmly, popping the naan in his mouth.

“So I made the bastard get fancy pasta sauce all down his shirt, and _I_ said, ‘Compliments of the chef!”

Aziraphale snorted, giggling helplessly, listing off into Crowley’s side and staying there while he shook with laughter.

“Er. Something like that, anyway...”

“Oh ho, that’s good!”

“Yeah.” Crowley grinned stupidly. He was on top of the world, warm and happy and affably sloshed, his angel equally warm and happy and affably sloshed next to him. “It was, wasn’t it? Whatever his face was. The bloke.”

Aziraphale waved a hand, getting his breathing back under control with an effort. He dragged himself upright, settling back against Crowley with a small ‘oof’. “This…this wasn’t the one that upset you, was it? When you called me?”

“Hmm. Oh. No.”

“Because whoever that was, was a right…a right _bastard!_ ” declared Aziraphale, eyes gleaming with fury.

Crowley gasped. “Angel, you swore.” He giggled.

“I _did_ ,” whispered Aziraphale. “And you know what? I’d do it again!”

“Noo!” laughed Crowley, throwing an arm around him. He gave Aziraphale a little shake. “Angel no! What would Gabriel say?”

They paused. Then they both dissolved into laughter.

“Oh _Gabriel_ ,” managed Aziraphale. “Gabriel can go bugger off!”

“Bloody Gabriel!”

“You know, I nearly matched with him.”

Crowley had just been raising his wine glass to his mouth and gave a whole body sag, snorting air as if expecting to be spewing wine everywhere. “You didn’t!”

“I didn’t. Adam almost did though. Just for a laugh. He told me, he ah…fixed the results! But I complained and so did Gabriel, so he _un_ fixed them. Instead I got, erm. Hm. Someone else.”

“I got Raphael.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah! Was terrified! Thought I was going to be smot-smitted, but no. They weren’t bad.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it! I’ve always though they were an all right sort, for an archangel.”

“Yeah, they—actually, yeah.” Crowley straightened. “Aziraphale, I don’t think you have to worry.”

“Er...come again?”

“About this. About—“ he gestured inarticulately at the space in-between them– “ _This_. I asked them. They’ll vouch for you if anything goes up Down there. Er...down Up There.You’re safe, Zira. No matter how much Gabriel whines about it, Heaven won’t turn on you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked taken aback. A look of relief stole over his features. “Oh. Oh, my _dear_ , you asked about that?”

Crowley shrugged. “Had the chance, didn’t I?”

“Crowley, my dear—“

“Got the feeling they were a little fond of me to tell the truth,” said Crowley all in a rush. “Not sure why, but they seemed eager to please. It was…distressing.”

Aziraphale's eyes were soft. “You’re very likeable. You know that, don’t you?”

“They wanted me to Rise,” he said sharply. “To be an _angel_ again, back under the thumb of Heaven. Thought I’d be _suited_ to it, being so full of mercy and love and all." He scoffed. "As if that’s the only redeemable thing about me, as if there's nothing else I-like nothing else-like-like I'm..."

Aziraphale patted him on the arm. “Some _people_. Ah. Well. It’s nice to know you have options. Just in case.”

“Here’s hoping it never comes to that.”

“Oh, yes.”

They managed a clumsy toast.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “About that. I don’t think you have to worry. About Hell.”

Crowley froze. “Ha ha.”

“Er. No really, my dear. Had a little chat with erm…someone. You’ll be quite safe. No matter what happens, I’ve made sure of that.”

“Made…who did you talk to?” asked Crowley, an edge of fear creeping into his voice.

“It was perfectly safe, my dear,” assured Aziraphale. “Actually, he appeared to think he owed me a favour, so naturally, I thought I’d make use of it.

“Who? Not-not _Hastur!_ ”

“Oh gracious me, no! No. It was urm…Ah ha. Beeelz...” The angel mumbled off.

Crowley blinked. He gripped the edge of the sofa for dear life. “Sorry? Did you say _Beelz?_ ”

“Beelzebub. Yes. Chap with the buzzing.”

“ _Beelzebub!_ ”

“Like I said, he seemed to think he owed me a favour, and so I took one. Don’t worry my dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled, something sharp in his eyes. “I know how to make a deal with a demon. You’ll be quite safe. Hell can’t touch you.”

“You—you did that?” Crowley seemed overwhelmed, stuck somewhere between horror and awestruck.

“Had the chance, didn’t I?”

Crowley slumped, leaning into Aziraphale. “You’re amazing.”

Aziraphale gave a little shuffle, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. “Oh, hardly. Actually, I thought he rather liked having someone talk down to him.”

“Oh _angel_ ,” Crowley laughed tiredly. “Don’t ever change.”

“I only had the two demons,” mused Aziraphale. “Apart from you, dear, of course. Then two angels.”

“Only had the one demon. My first date, one I was telling you about with the waitress.”

“The, the _bugger_.”

“Yeah,” laughed Crowley. “That’s the one. Then it was all angels for me.”

Aziraphale frowned. He was remembering how distraught Crowley had sounded on the phone after his date. An angel date, then. “I don’t think I like angels very much.”

“Angel,” said Crowley softly, trying not to laugh.

“Other angels,” said Aziraphale waspishly. “’Specially not yours.”

“They’re not _mine_ ,” said Crowley, dragging his leg up and over Aziraphale’s meaningfully.

“Mmm. No.” The angel gave Crowley’s foot a pleased little pat. Crowley would have curled his toes if he had any at the moment. Instead the flat end of his scaled foot curled up* in pleasure.

*Rather like in a certain iconic scene concerning a wicked witch and a house and the removal of a particular pair of ruby slippers.

“Don’t much like most demons, to be honest,” said Crowley.

“I like demons,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley looked at him and tried not to frown. “Demonsss?”

“De _mon_ ,” stressed the angel.” S' singular.” He gave his scaly foot a little squeeze. Aziraphale lent in close. “I like _you_ ,” he whispered.

Crowley blushed, the warm feeling that had been in his chest since the park swelling. “I like you too,” he said quietly.

“Oh _good_.” Aziraphale beamed. He settled against Crowley, resting his head against his shoulder. After a long moment, Crowley nervously raised his arm and draped it around the angel, heartbeat doubling when Aziraphale all but melted against him. He curled his arm more firmly around his companion, drawing him close.

Heaven could go hang. This was better than anything they could _ever_ offer.

“The whole time I kept wishing I was with you instead,” said Aziraphale softly. He gave a little laugh. “The dates. I kept wishing it was over so I could go and see you.” He smiled up at Crowley, eyes so full of warmth and affection he glowed with it. “I’m afraid you’ve rather spoiled me for anyone else’s company. No one could live up to it.”

“Angel...”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand. He felt warm and safe. Loved. More than he ever had back in Heaven when he had been part of the Host.

“When I heard your voice, over the phone,” Crowley began somewhat unsteadily, “It calmed me right down. You _know_ me, Aziraphale. For what I am, what I’ve done. Better than anyone. And you don’t want me to be anything else.”

Aziraphale made a small, offended sound. “’Course not.” He huffed. “You’re my _Crowley_ dear.”

Crowley grinned, nearly giddy with it. “And you’re my _angel_ , angel.”

“Mmm. That’s nice.”

Crowley traced little hearts on the back of Aziraphale’s hand, aglow in the warmth, the love radiating off him.

“Angel?” he whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I…I lo—“ The word got caught in his throat. “I…”

Aziraphale turned, looking up at him.

“…love you,” Crowley managed. He immediately buried his face in the angel’s hair.

“Oh, my dear.” The head under his shifted away. Warm hands cupped his cheeks. He opened his eyes, staring down at his angel. Aziraphale smiled at him, so familiar, so _comfortable_ , his one constant in a world full of change.

“I love you too.”

Their lips met.

And far away a nightingale sang, and the rest of eternity opened before them, theirs for the enjoying.


End file.
